


Legacy of the Silencer

by The Manwell (Manniness)



Series: The Brothers Maxwell [3]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Fairy, M/M, fae, fey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-09-20 02:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 96,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9470642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manniness/pseuds/The%20Manwell
Summary: Hunted by powerful fey, Duo and Trowa must take their place in the Resistance.  Whether they're ready or not.Sequel to "Duo and the Fey" and "Legends of the Fey"





	1. From the Farmhouse to the Fey Resistance

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings include explicit male/male sexual situations, coarse language, terrorism, torture, gore, and that's about all so far.
> 
> No comprehensive research was done on the fey before writing this story. Just, y'know, FYI.
> 
> Forever love and thanks to my fandom friend, ALT, for being the very best cheerleader and enabler of Fey!Trowa.

Duo POV

 

September first.  A day of twitchy anticipation and uncertainty.  Where are my books?  Are these the right ones?  Did I put a pen _and_ a pencil in my bag?  ID, cash, keys, phone, class schedule, campus map?

September first.  The first day of my freshman year as a student at Boston University.  Trowa would pack us some sandwiches and stand between me and the other passengers on the bus to campus.  He’d slouch outside the lecture hall of my freshman comp class.  He’d walk me to my world history course after that.  We’d eat lunch in the cafeteria.  His knee would bump mine and I’d be tempted to find an unused classroom where I could make out with him until my two p.m. chem lab.

September first should have started with a burst of panic – __What time is it?  Am I late?__  – but it didn’t.

I sighed at the feel of cool fingers sliding beneath the hem of my T-shirt, petting just firmly enough not to tickle.  Warm lips brushed small, tingly kisses along my bare arm.

“Hmm,” I approved, rolling toward him.  My hands lazily sought his skin and I aimlessly rubbed myself further into his embrace.  “Trowa…”

I opened my eyes long enough to meet his gaze and give him a sleepy smile.  His lips twitched in response and he lowered his mouth to my neck in silence.  My arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingertips tracing the raised lines of his scars.

 _ _Oh, baby.__   I loved waking up like this.  I loved it when he nuzzled and kissed and rubbed me gently awake, pulled a shimmering wave of completion from me, and then eased me back to sleep for twenty more minutes.  

I held onto him, groaned so very quietly into his ear, and matched each slow writhe of his body with mine.  I was warm and drowsy and had no reason to think that this morning would be any different from the other sleepy lie-ins we’d enjoyed since I’d been able to give the fey-made clothing a rest.  I hooked a leg over his bare hips and he moaned against the notch at the base of my throat.

“Ahhh, my Duo.”

 _ _My Duo.__   Hmm, yes.  I liked that one __a lot.__   I pressed my nose against his hair and inhaled deeply.  

“Nnn…” I replied, stretching and pushing my body into his hands as he guided my T-shirt up my torso.  It bunched under my arms and he lost interest in it as soon as my nipples peeked out at him.  A cool thumb brushed slowly back and forth over one as his insanely hot tongue tended to the other.

I squeaked with pleasure and wiggled the rest of the way out of my shirt.  I gave a thought to my shorts, but Trowa’s amazing body was far too tempting a detour for my hands.  My fingertips glided over the firm curves of his biceps, along the hard hills of his ribs, up the muscle-framed valley of his spine.  Fuck he was fine.  I was never gonna get enough of him.  

“Uhnn…”  I greedily tunneled my fingers into his hair, smoothed my palms down his back, brushed teasing designs against the taut curve of his incredibly sexy ass.

He panted hot breaths against my sternum, kissed his way down to my belly, and then fumbled for the waistband of my shorts.  “Please,” I approved, lifting my hips and biting my lip as his bare hand groped over one cheek, tugging the last piece of clothing down my legs.

“C’mere,” I invited, my eyes closed and lips curving in anticipation of bliss.  I felt him rub his way up to my open arms where I could get a good grip on his short hair and wrap both legs around his hips.  He purred against my throat.  I slid my feet between his thighs, drawing my toes up along the velvety inside of his legs.  Shit, yes.  I loved that spot on his hard, strong body.

His hips rolled our cocks into full contact and I was a goner.  Total goner.  I locked my ankles together at the small of his back.  His fingers curled around my shoulders from behind.  Neither of us had plans to let the other go anytime soon.

Ah, fuck, yes.

Countless lazy thrusts and messy kisses against convenient patches of skin.  Moving with him like this – bare bodies in the morning sunlight, eyes closed, wordless pleas – was perfect.  So perfect.

But then he did something that hadn’t become part of our morning routine.  With a long, hot, open-mouthed kiss to my shoulder, he rolled us both to our sides, turning in my arms and pressing his back against my chest.  His hand grasped my cock and his hips pushed back against me, aligning us for a slow, lazy fuck.

I groaned, scraped my teeth over his shoulder, and grabbed for his hip.  I wanted this so badly, but—

I hesitated.

“Duo,” he breathed in __that__  tone.  That “Don’t stop” tone.  That “Trust me” tone.

I caressed his side, reached for his leg and nudged it up a bit – just so that his knee bent – and I flexed my hips.  Gasped.  Oh, God.  He was hot and tight and slick.  Lubed.  He’d lubed himself before waking me with kisses. I mewled against his bare skin as I slid deeper.  His hands reached for me, one diving into my loosened braid and the other grabbing my ass.  I slid a leg under his, opening him up, and initiated a slow plunge that rubbed my chest against his back and rocked my cock against that hot spot inside him.

The air burst from his lungs.  His fingers clenched.   _ _Ah, yes.  Baby.__   I was gonna do this – nothing but this – all morning long.  I snuggled against him, petting his skin and sighing with bliss.  “Ah, baby.  This feel good?”

He tried to answer – I could hear the hitching of his breath as his throat worked – but all he managed was a low moan that sounded like, “Mooooore.”

My arm snaked beneath him and banded across his chest.  I splayed the fingers of my other hand over his lower belly, ignoring his hard cock as I thrust, slow and deep, inside him.   _ _Ah, God.__   The feel of him was mesmerizing.  I never wanted to stop.

He tightened around me, silently demanding release and making me groan.  “Please, not yet,” I begged.  “Can I have more, baby?  Just a little longer?”

I felt his surrender as he relaxed, his hips gently humping back to meet my leisurely thrusts.

“Nnngh, baby.  Oh, oh, oooh,” I breathed against his skin.  “You feel so good.  Wanna lie here and love you all damn day.  Just.  Like.  This.”

“Duo,” he breathed back.  Breathed and sighed and leaned into my arms.  Gave me his body and his trust and the sounds of his pleasure.  Heartbeats and breaths and flexing hips.  My pulse.  His pulse.  Us.  As badly as I wanted this to go on forever, I knew it couldn’t.  And besides, I didn’t want to make him wait too long.  I palmed his thigh and ran my hand up his parted legs to cup his balls.  They we taut; he was close.  I brushed the back of my fingers over his skin and he whined.  Opened his legs wider and rolled his hips in a blatant plea for attention.

My fingertips followed the swollen vein along the underside of his hard cock all the way to the head, drawing teasing circles just to hear him mewl and whine.  He was leaking – had been leaking for some time given the size of the puddle I was feeling in the sheet.  I swiped at the sticky tears I found, massaging them into his cockhead.  He was breathless with need.  I gripped his shaft tightly.

“Nah—ah—aaah—Du—oh—”

“Hmm, baby.”  The way he moved his hips should be criminal.

“Can—I—please—please—please—?”

Oh, fuck.  Yes.  Anything at all.   _ _Yes.__   “Take what you need,” I groaned, and in the next instant he was engulfing my dick with hard, greedy thrusts.  The bed creaked.  His breaths panted loudly and he grabbed my hand, tightened my fingers around his cock.  I held onto him as he rode me, took me, fucked me fast and breathless.  He tightened around me, swelled in my grasp, shuddered in my arms, and then – “Don’t stop,” he rasped – his strong body was locking down, drawing taut and motionless in the maw of pleasure.  I delved into him as he spilled over my hand and his back bowed, pressing me even deeper inside him.

So deep.  Thrusting.  Primal and urgent and infinite.  Claiming him.  Coming.

My hips twitched as each successive wave of ecstasy washed over me, pushing me further-closer-everywhere-nowhere-at-all, and I surrendered to the heat of it, the pure release.  I whimpered against his shoulder and even when I had nothing left to pour into him, my hips continued to move with the momentum and memory.

“Nuhh, Trowa… I don’t wanna stop,” I panted.

He moaned and his hips shifted in helpless agreement.

So I didn’t.  His channel was even slicker now and fuck he was hot around my cock.  I pulled myself flush against his ass and rocked our hips together – dirty dancing on the rumpled, sweaty sheets – until heat started to tingle at the base of my spine, in my fingertips and toes, along my scalp.  I was getting hard again.  I slid halfway out of him and surged back in.

Trowa sucked in a harsh breath.

“OK?” I checked.

He nodded on a whimper, pushing his hips back against me.  “Everything,” he gasped and a hot shiver danced over my skin.  I wrapped an arm around his hips and he let me drag him toward the center of the bed, press him onto his stomach as I tucked my bent knees up along the underside of his and moved inside him, with him, our hips undulating.  I kissed his back, licked and panted against each vertebrae.

“My consort.  My husband.  My Trowa,” I sighed.

“Yours,” he agreed, his spine curving.  

My arms, still wrapped around his waist, shifted so I could address his cock.  Many long minutes of slow, glorious sex later, we both came.  Longer and slower than before, gentler.  Almost softly.  Like our bodies were sighing together.  Satisfied.

For the time being, anyway.

I slid out of him with care and kissed my way down his back to assess the mess.  He shifted weakly as I licked his cheeks and nipped his thighs.  Inhaled the scent of sex and sighed against his twitching pucker.

“Duo,” he softly encouraged me.

The husky quality of his voice made me shiver.  I wanted to touch him more, but we’d never fucked for so long nonstop before and I hadn’t even slicked myself before entering him.  We both knew he could heal himself whenever he wanted, but he seemed to have some kind of policy against it when it came to this.  Us.  

I leaned away until my skin no longer touched his so I could check, “How do you feel?”

“Boneless,” he replied with a smug grin.

“Yeah, you look it.  Are you sore?”

He flexed his hips against the bed and nodded.  “Hnn, __yes.__   Now I can feel you all day.”

I gripped the back of his thigh and he groaned.  I groaned, too, loving the image he’d effortlessly painted.  “You know what you do to me,” I accused him.

“My companion.  It’s no more than what you do to me.”

“Well, fair’s fair, I guess.”

“Wash me,” he proposed, “and we’ll call it fair.”

I laughed.  “Fine, fine.  I’ll make sure the coast is clear.”

It was.  We ducked into the bathroom and, under the warm spray, I followed his orders precisely and with pleasure.  Master O said nothing when we finally made it downstairs to the kitchen.  Didn’t even look up from the tattered cookbook he was thumbing through.  Trowa headed for the vintage Frigidaire ice box to grab the milk for me.  I scooped the empty kettle off of the stovetop and went to the sink to refill it.  I cranked open the tap and looked out the open window, blinking as I watched my brother’s ass flip through the air and land with a __thud__  in the center of the tai chi ring.

“Sonuvabitch!” I heard him shout.

Chang smirked.  “Sticks and stones, Maxwell.”

“Which you’re about to feel poking you in your bony ass, Chang.”

I grinned as Solo lashed out with his feet and knocked his sparring partner flat on his back.  A string of Chinese curses filled the air.

“Quit acting like you’re not used to this,” Solo laughed as he leaped to his feet.  “We both know Meiran hands you your ass on a regular basis.”

Chang rolled to his feet.  “Jealous?”

Solo grinned.  “I’m sure you’d love to get your hands on my ass.”

They began circling each other.

“Your narcissism is astounding.”

“Takes one to know one.”

Trowa came up behind me and turned off the water tap.  With a start, I realized that the kettle was overflowing.  But I couldn’t look away from the fight for long.  Jesus fried a chicken – if their egos were hanging out any more, they’d be tripping over them.  Or maybe that was just what they needed: to fall down and screw each other somewhat-less-stupid-than-they-already-were.  If possible.

“This is friendship?” Trowa doubted aloud, his hands resting on my waist.

I snorted.  “More like foreplay.”

He gave me a look, arched brows included.

“Uh, __their__  version of it, I mean.”

“Hm.”

From out in the yard, I heard Chang sneer, “Ladies, first, Maxwell.”

“That’s why I’m waitin’ on you, Chang, but if you’re not gonna throw a punch, then I guess I will.”

With a snort, I tore myself away from the view and clicked on the gas burner.  “Is this a thing now?” I asked Master O with a nod in the direction of the yard.

He sighed.  “For the past four mornings.  Unfortunately.”

I muttered to myself, “Maybe I should just loan ‘em the bottle of lube.”

“Absolutely not,” my husband retorted on an equally quiet growl and I snickered.

Trowa reached for the mason jar of herbal tea blend.  I herded a couple of metal camping mugs onto the counter and then dug out the can of instant coffee.

“Had enough, huh?” Solo hollered just as the screen door banged open and Chang whirled around on the threshold to shout back.

“I’ve had more than enough of dealing with you while your head is firmly lodged between your buttocks.”

“Get back here and say that like a man for once!”

“A man with the vocabulary of a prepubescent juvenile delinquent?” Chang checked.

My brother barked out a laugh.  “Been hanging out with guys in orange jumpsuits?”

“Clearly yours is at the cleaners.”

“Now see, that’s where I just took you, Chang.”

“In your dreams, Maxwell.”

“Hey, dreams do come true!”

With an inarticulate growl, Chang stomped into and through the kitchen without acknowledging the three people looking on.

Out in the yard, Solo started shadow boxing.  Master O frowned in the direction of the door.  I took that to mean that this was usually about the time when Solo would give it up and come in to annoy his martial arts instructor, but my brother was still all wound up with no one to torment.

The calendar hanging on the wall caught my eye.  

__Oh, hell._ _

I let out a gusty sigh.

“It’s the date,” I volunteered.  “First day of the fall semester.  I was supposed to start university today.”  Day One of Duo’s Normal Life, also known as “the reason why Solo has been busting his ass for the past six years.”

Trowa stiffened and glared thoughtfully out the kitchen window.  “Then it’s me he’s upset with.”

I opened my mouth to argue: my brother’s bull-headed ideas were not Trowa’s responsibility to deal with.  My husband reached out and squeezed my shoulder.  “I’ll handle this.  I owe him one.  Make my tea for me?”

“Uh, sure,” I sputtered, too distracted by that last request to ask about anything else he’d just said.  “You gonna be back before it gets cold?”

“Undoubtedly.”  He pressed a kiss to my cheek and breathed a soft, “I love you,” against my skin, then the screen door was squealing shut behind him.

I stood there for all of five seconds before I mumbled, “Fuck the tea,” and jogged the three paces that separated me from the screen door.  I slouched just out of sight, peering around the door jamb as my husband crossed the trimmed grass of the tai chi circle.

“What the hell do you want, Tro-bro?”

“To square a debt.”

“Oh?  What debt is that?”

“I took away Duo’s chance for an ordinary life.”

Solo was quiet.  Too quiet.  I dared to lean forward a little further… and nearly shrank back at the fury in my brother’s narrowed eyes and stiff shoulders.  “Yeah.  Yeah, you did.”

Trowa spread his hands.  “Here I am.  Take your best shot.”

“I should.  You asshole, I __should.__ ”  My brother ran his wrapped hands through his own sweaty hair.  “But I ain’t gonna hit you, kiddo.”

“How about now?”

I blinked and took a closer look at Trowa: two inches taller with broad shoulders that stretched the cotton of his T-shirt taut.  Hell, he matched Solo in height and weight.  Maybe even age, too, but I couldn’t see his face clearly from this angle.

“Fuck,” Solo barked.  “The hell did you just do?”

“Age shift.  Fey are all physical ages at the same time.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, I remember.”

“Well?”

Solo just shook his head.  Moved to turn away.

“I fucked him.”

My heart lurched to a halt in my chest.  My brother froze.  Even from here, I could see his jaw clench.

“Two hours after you left him in the forest at Caerlaverock, he was mine.  He wanted me to stop.  I didn’t.”

“You—!”  Solo took two lunging steps toward my husband.  “If that’s true, you—!”

“It’s true.”  And he didn’t stop there.  He stubbornly – and suicidally – listed every way he’d altered the course of my life: “I performed the declaration with him without his consent.  I made him into the Sicarian.  He’s hunted because of me.  He’s a killer because of me.  He’s never going to have a normal life because of me.”

Solo was trembling.  “You… you bastard.  I should turn you inside out.”

Trowa didn’t look like he was gonna stop him.  I reached for the door handle, but found it stuck.  Locked.  Fuck.  How the hell did ya open the frickin’ thing?  I fiddled with it, blind and clumsy with fear.  I had to get out there.  Jesus Christ, my brother was gonna kill Trowa with his bare hands.

“Duo deserves so much better than what you’ve done to him,” Solo snarled softly.  So softly I almost didn’t hear him.  “But I ain’t gonna hit you.”

“Why not?”

Oh, Jesus.   _ _Just shut up, Trowa!__

“Because you are gonna spend the rest of your existence making him happy.”  Solo growled, “Aren’t you?”

After a moment, Trowa nodded.  “Yes.”

“Good.”  Solo pivoted away.

“I don’t understand,” Trowa admitted.

Solo stopped.  Looked back over his shoulder.  Fisted his hands.  “It’s simple arithmetic.  One day, I’m gonna be gone an’ you’re gonna be the only family he’s got.”

Oh, God.  What the hell was this about?

Solo continued, “‘Sides, I promised to respect your place in his life.  So I ain’t gonna hit you.  Not today.”

I finally managed to get the fucking door open – Trowa must have flipped the tiny, evilly camouflaged latch shut when he’d walked out – and I clamored down the steps just as my brother stalked around the corner of the house toward the front yard.  I heard the sound of a car door squealing open and slamming shut before I reached Trowa, who was still standing in the middle of the circle looking lost.  Lost and older, but not as near my brother’s age as I’d expected.  It gave me a jolt to feel even shorter and thinner than him.  More shorter and thinner than usual, anyway.  It unsettled me, which just made me even more pissed off.

“What the hell was that about?” I bit out.

“I…  I thought I was doing the right thing,” he replied, confusion softening his voice.  Before my eyes, he regressed in age back to the “eighteen-year-old” fey boy I’d married.  “What did I do wrong?”  He bit his lip and looked to me for guidance.

I had no idea what to say, so I just wrapped my arms around him.  It was either that or shake him senseless.  He clutched me close.  Chokingly close.

“Why is it so difficult to be Solo’s brother?” he asked me, destroying my unarticulated frustration.  I exhaled heavily and it was just __gone.__

I petted his hair.  “Well, you spent twelve years all on your own, babe, with just the trees to talk to.  They might have the same IQ as Solo, but…”  I shrugged.  Trowa didn’t chuckle at my joke.  Didn’t even crack a smile.  OK, then.  Bottom line: “Solo can be an ass.  Forget him.”

Trowa shook off my attempt at reassurance.  “It’s because he’s human, and I’m not.  I never will be, Duo.”

I heard the warning in his voice.  “Trowa, I’ve never asked you to be human.  You’re fey.  I get that, OK?  You’re __my__  fey.  That’s all I need.  Just you.  Just as you are.”

He smiled.  It was a bit wobbly, but it was a smile.  His green eyes shimmered with unshed tears.  He sniffed audibly, licked his lips, and glanced toward the corner of the house Solo had disappeared around.  “I should apologize.”

“Not yet,” I advised.  “Lemme scope it out.  Go make your tea.  I’ll be five minutes behind ya.  Ten, tops.”

He nodded and I walked him to the back porch.  With a squeeze to his hand, I waved him inside.  Then I thrashed my way through the grass that was waist-high and long past having gone to seed – hell, it was probably an inch of rainfall away from mutating into sentience – to reach the front drive and Master O’s little P.O.S-mobile.  I’d just seen the keys hanging up on a peg in the kitchen, so I knew Solo wasn’t planning on going anywhere.  Just imagining it.  Imagining being somewhere else – anywhere else – but right there inside his own head.

I rounded the front of the car and, taking in my brother’s slumped figure as he gripped the steering wheel with his forehead lowered to the leather and laces, I drummed my hands on the hood and stuck my thumb out in the classic hitchhiker’s pose.

He startled, glared, and then rolled his eyes.  I jogged up to the passenger side door as he leaned over to shove it open.  “Hey, stranger.  Goin’ my way?” I asked as I slid into the seat.

“Jesus, D-man.  Don’t ever let me catch you hitching rides from strangers.”

I grinned.  “OK.  You won’t.  I’ll be sly.”

He shook his head in mock exasperation.

We were quiet for a full minute before he blurted, “Tell me Tro was lying.  Or fey faking.  Or something.  Please.”

I propped my elbow on the edge of the window and lowered my head into my palm.  I blew out a breath.  “Well, he tends to leave out a lot of specifics, that’s for damn sure.”

“Did you ask him to stop?”

I could have played dumb; if I hadn’t been eavesdropping, I wouldn’t have had a clue as to what he was talking about.  But I had, and I did, so I owned up to it.  “No.  I… God—”  I could feel my face turning beet red.  “Look, the first thing you need to know about that whole thing—I pitched, OK?  He caught.”

“So… so he didn’t hurt you?”

“No, he didn’t.”

Solo didn’t relax, though, and I knew he was waiting for the rest of it.  After all, I hadn’t denied that Trowa had taken advantage of my hormonal response.  Non-consensual sex was still non-consensual no matter what.

I confessed, “It happened really fast—he was pretty determined and I’d never—I mean, hell, it was…”  I sighed.  “I’d just wanted to get to know him better before anything happened, but we didn’t really have the chance.  He was, um…”

“Determined.  Right,” Solo summarized.

I dropped my hand and looked at my brother.  “He saved me from getting sucked into the fey realm that day.  Kept me safe for a second time.  They carved up his back in punishment for it.  I was just trying to help stop the pain for him.  Got carried away.”

Solo snorted.  “Fell for his scam, more like.”

I wanted to get angry, but I knew my brother was kinda right.  I had fallen for Trowa.  Hard.  “I’m not gonna pretend like he didn’t have his own agenda,” which he’d more or less owned up to the following day, “but he healed me and he protected me.”

“In exchange for every day of the rest of your life.”

“You think he owns me?  Is that what’s goin’ on inside your head?” I demanded, disgusted.

He blew out a gusty breath.  “No.  It’s more like he wants the rest of the planet to take a long walk off a short pier an’ have you all to himself.  Which ain’t much better.”

“He just needs—I dunno—stability.”

“Short supply of that right now.”

No kidding.  “Look, bro.  I get that he fucks up human shit.  It’s not like he’s had a lot of practice, y’know?  But he’s worth knowing.  And he’s earned my trust.  And he’s good to me.”

Solo drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.  “Wish he’d waited until you’d gone to college.”

“Yeah.  Sure.  Girls, booze, drugs, frat parties, pranks, hangovers—I’m missing out on the time of my life.”

Solo was quiet for a long moment.  “Girls?” he eventually asked.

I shrugged.  “Boys?  Who knows.  Maybe none of the above.”

“Damn it, Duo.”

“So-bro, you gotta stop trying to add more shit to the list of things you think Trowa’s screwed up in my life.  This is done.  He and I, that’s not gonna change.  So,” I drew a deep breath, “do me a favor; change the list.”

He looked at me.

I offered, “If you gotta make a list, then have it be of all the things I’ve got now because of him.  Lotsa good shit on there, yeah?  My health for one.”

Solo blew out a breath.  “Yeah, yeah.  There’s that.”

My grin was crooked as I added, “I’d tell you some of the other ones, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want details.”

“Jesus.  No details.  I beg you.”

I smirked.

Just then the front door banged open and Master O ushered Chang and Trowa outside.  Each had a pair of plastic shopping bags in hand.  I opened the car door as Trowa jogged over.  “What’s—?”

“We have to go,” he said, passing the bags to me.  I glanced down and noticed the clothes that Master O had gone into town to pick up for us on our second day here; they were hastily folded with my wallet, keys, and phone on top.  The other bag held Trowa’s things including the feykin.  The one from Treize’s house.  At some point, my husband had cleaned it so that it shone.

“We’re leaving?” I guessed.

Chang opened the rear door.  “Quatre Winner’s jet is on its way to Bradford.”

Bradford.  The nearest airfield.  Well, shit.

Master O climbed into the backseat and Chang followed.  Trowa squeezed my shoulder and folded himself into the seat behind mine.  I got back in and shifted my seat forward to make room for Trowa’s longer legs.  Master O passed my brother the keys.

“Where to?” was all Solo wanted to know.

Chang named a place that I’d seen on a road sign during my one and only trip into town.  It’d been the week before last; Tro and I had gone shopping for __our__ things.  The black jeans and black button-down Oxford shirt I was wearing were from that trip.  As was the lube that was undoubtedly in the bottom of one of these bags.  Tro would have chucked that in first.  Definitely.

“How’dyou know Quatre’s on his way?” I asked Chang.

He held up a prepaid cell phone.  “Po called,” he said.

I’d known that we got cell phone service at Master O’s place, but I sure as hell hadn’t taken advantage of it.  I’d had no reason to, really.  Wi-fi withdrawal, though, was another issue entirely.  Still, I wouldn’t be keeping a very low profile if I called my boss or Tweeted.  So there had been no wi-fi at all for me and minimal, drive-into-town-to-access-it wi-fi for Chang and Master O.

Chang continued, “She calls every time Winner makes a move.”

And finally the sneaky fey bastard was making one a little too close for comfort.  “So today’s the day,” I sighed.  We were finally kicking off the plans we’d discussed the day Trowa and I had become Mission: Possible again.  But, mostly, I was apprehensive.  Was I ready for this?  Had Trowa and I trained enough to be able to deal with whatever we were heading for?

As the little shitster car lurched from one pothole to another, I reached a hand behind my seat between the edge of the cushion and the side of the car.  Trowa’s fingers found mine.

“One more time?” he guessed.

“Yeah.  Here it comes.”  I stared into the side view mirror as the car jounced and shrieked down the rutted lane.  Master O’s shrinking house bounced in and out of frame.  I glared at it, digging deep and drawing upon a single word: __mine.__   Trowa was mine and anyone who tried to hurt him or take him from me would be—!

Trowa hissed.  His hand jerked out of my grasp.

I twisted in the seat and watched as his fingers darkened into charcoal.  Red embers glowed through his skin.  My hands fisted on my lap.  It was like this every time.  I hated that we had to practice, that I had to hurt him every time we did, but it was too dangerous for us to rely on faith alone.

I could just barely see the soft glow of Trowa’s healing magic surrounding and pressing in on the insidious flames that sought to spread through his entire body.  Would turn him to ash if his concentration wavered.

I held my breath as he battled against the power of the Sicarian.  Master O said nothing as Trowa focused and the line of embers shrank back toward the tips of his fingers faster than I’d ever seen.  But, then again, he wasn’t trying to hold onto it to test his limits like he usually did, which drove me fucking insane with terror.

In about five seconds, his right hand was perfectly normal again.  He held it up for me to inspect and I traced the raised green scars that sprawled across his palm and meandered over each of his fingers.  Grinning crookedly, I slapped our hands together in an awkward high five.

Flipping back around to face forward, I slumped into the seat.  “Let’s hope we don’t have to do that for real.”

“We’ll be fine,” he promised.

I didn’t try to argue with him.

The car puttered and hiccupped along the rural roads until we entered the city limits.

I couldn’t find anything to say to my brother as the car heaved a cough, jerking to a stop in the station’s drop-off zone.  Chang pushed open his door as a bus growled past, flooding my ears with mindless noise.

Solo’s sigh was drowned out by the diesel engines, but I caught the motion as his entire torso heaved.  “C’mon, D-man.”

He shoved his way out of the car and I followed, awkwardly crinkling with the bulk of the plastic bags Trowa had assigned me.  He took them back without a word and let me have my hands free so I could punch Solo in the arm unimpeded.

“Ow!” he complained.

I grinned and he smiled.  Over the past month, I’d gotten a lot stronger.  Put on some muscle.  My older brother had played no small part in that.  “I’ll see you after, yeah, moron?” I checked.

“Count on it, li’l bro.”  He mauled me with a hug and then turned me loose.

I held out my hand to Chang.  “Thanks.  The meditation and all—thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

As my brother leaned back against the side of the car, I added with a nod in Solo’s direction, “Look, I know he’s a pain in the ass—”

“Oi!”

“—and he’s not the brightest twinkle light on the Christmas tree, either—”  Chang and I both ignored Solo’s grumbles.  “So you’d better watch his back for me.”

Chang smirked.  “We are on the same page, Duo Maxwell.”

I didn’t offer to shake Master O’s hand without my gloves on.  We’d tried it once – just a casual touch.  We hadn’t even provoked the Sicarian, and yet the fire and ash had raced up the philosopher’s arm like actual flames gleefully licking up gasoline.  Thank God Trowa had already been standing right there, holding O’s other hand and sending out waves of healing energy.  But even then, it had been a near thing.

I could have dug out my fey cloth gloves from the depths of the shopping bags, but the job wasn’t finished.  Shaking hands would just feel like we’d jinxed it.

“Thank you, Master O.  For everything.”

“You will be successful,” he predicted with satisfaction.  And I knew that success would be payment enough.

“Want us to hang around until you get going?” Solo asked.

“I want you to get your ass on the road.”  It was a long drive back to the Big Apple.

Master O slid behind the wheel.  Chang wordlessly claimed gunshot and wrestled the seat back to where it had been.  Solo lingered for a second and then, squinting with displeasure, he held out a hand to Trowa.  I took one of the plastic bags from him so they could clasp hands.  Solo tugged Trowa close for a back-slapping hug and a growl, “You take care of my little brother, Tro-bro, or I really will kick your ass.”

Trowa merely nodded.  Yeah, Solo had forgiven him for earlier.  I knew Trowa had no idea why, but at least he was accepting it gracefully.

I didn’t wave as they drove off.  Didn’t stand around watching, either.   _ _Keep it low-key,__  I reminded myself and went to hunt up the bus schedule.  That accomplished, I zeroed in on a nice, anonymous payphone.  As I waited for the call to connect, I pawed through my plastic bag to double check—yes.  Trowa had thrown my fey-made outfit in there.  We would be good to go if someone would just pick up their damned phone!

“Hello.”

I grinned.  “It’s your favorite undertaker calling.  How ya been?”

“Busy.”

“Not too busy for a visit, are ya?”

“No.  When will you be here?”

“7:30-ish.  Tonight.”

“We’ll be waiting.”

I hung up.  “Let’s go buy our tickets,” I told Trowa.  “You hungry?”

We hadn’t gotten around to eating breakfast.

Trowa nodded.  “Very.”

It was kinda weird sitting down at a table with only the two of us after a solid month of sharing a kitchen with three other dudes.  We ordered and then just kind of looked at each other in silence for the next five minutes.  Eventually, the awkwardness made me grin and then chuckle.

“Sorry,” I said.  “Been a while since we’ve had a date, hasn’t it?”

He tilted his head to the side.  “A date?”

“Er, yeah.  That’s what we call it when two people spend exclusive time together.”

His lips stretched into a small, sneaky smile.  “We had a date this morning.”

I coughed.  “Uh, that’s not exactly, um.”  I cleared my throat.  “Not the same thing.”

He toyed with the edge of his paper-napkin-wrapped silverware.  “This is a date?”

“An awkward-starting one, yeah.”  I glanced around, noting the comfortable buffer zone of space between our table and our nearest lunch neighbors, before asking quietly, “Tro, what did Solo mean this morning about, uh, you being my only family someday?”

Trowa looked at me, then looked down at his placemat.  “You’re of magic,” he reminded me.

“Yeah?  And…?”

His lashes lifted, revealing his green eyes.  “Magic is unchanging.”

“I—say what.”

“Unless Solo takes a fey as his consort and performs a declaration, he will continue aging.”

But I would not.  He didn’t have to spell it out for me.  I heard it in his carefully worded pseudo-explanation.  I gaped, breathless.  Stunned.  I couldn’t have heard him right.  But I knew I had.  Oh, fuck.  “This is… kinda huge, Tro.”  I swallowed thickly.  “Wish you’d mentioned this, y’know, earlier.”

His eyes narrowed.  “Would it have changed matters between us?”

“You asking if I would’ve refused the declaration?”

He nodded tightly.

I honestly didn’t know.  I sure as hell wouldn’t have sat on his freakin’ lap and fucked with magical vows if I’d known.  Jesus fried a chicken.  What else had I screwed around with outta pure dumb ignorance?  “I prefer to be fully informed,” I replied carefully.  “Are you going to tell me these things from now on?”

“If it’s pertinent.”

“No,” I commanded quietly, leaning my forearm on the table and bisecting the space between us.  “No, not good enough.”

“You are unsatisfied with me?”

I clenched my jaw, counted to ten, and replied carefully, “It’s in your nature to try to manipulate people.  Including me.”

He didn’t deny it.  Why would he?  This was what fey did.

I warned him, “I will resent you for it and that will make our life very uncomfortable.”  I could see that he didn’t like the thought of that at all.  “You have to give me a choice.”

Something that looked a lot like fear flashed in his eyes.  “You might refuse me.”

“If you are completely honest with me and if you explain why you want something __and__  tell me what the consequences are, I probably won’t.”

His brows drooped into a frown.  His lips curled into a sneer.  Was this the fey version of a pout?  “What if you do?”

“OK.  This is the deal.  I am who I am, Tro.  And if you continue withholding information from me, I will start fighting you.  I don’t want to, but if I can’t trust you, then that’s how it’s gonna be.  So I’m giving you the choice.”

“A mockery of a choice.”

“It is a choice,” I insisted.  “And I expect the same from you.  Give me a choice, damn it.  Even if one option clearly sucks.  I’ll do my best to be reasonable.”

He snorted softly.  “The human mind was not designed to be reasonable.”

“That’s why I’m gonna make an effort,” I vowed.  “I know it goes against your instincts to trust people.  I’m not asking you to try to rewire your brain, babe.  I just want you to make an effort to see things from my perspective.”

“I would not mind the withholding of information if the end result was advantageous for me.”

“But, see, I’m not fey,” I reminded him.  “And I’m never gonna be.  I’m human and I’m telling you what I need.”

“It’s too risky.”

I was this fucking close to saying to hell with it and walking out of the restaurant.  Planting my ass on a bench until our bus was scheduled to hit the road.  But I couldn’t.  We were a team and we had a job to do.

“What’s too risky?” I wearily probed.

“Probably,” he elaborated.

“What?  You mean that I’ll ‘probably’ agree to do what you think is best?  ‘Probably’ as opposed to ‘unquestioningly’?”

“Yes.”

I rolled my eyes.  “Welcome to human relationships, babe.  The biggest gamble in the universe.”

His hands clenched into fists upon the tabletop.

“I can’t promise that I’ll never tell you ‘no,’” I admitted, “but if you give me an informed choice, I will trust you and I will respect you.”

“Trust and respect are not common between fey.”

“Isn’t that why you wanted a companion in the first place?”

“I… yes.”  His throat worked.  “This is unsettling.”

“I can see that.”  Not gonna lie: it was kinda freaking me out that I’d let Trowa get away with making me more or less immortal.  This conversation should have happened a helluvalot sooner.  “Look, Tro,” I began.  “You gotta tell me—”

He tensed.

I amended, “Can you tell me what you’re thinking right now?”

He released the breath he’d been holding.  “This will change things.  When we arrive.”

“It doesn’t have to.”  In response to his arched brows, I elaborated, “I’m totally capable of following your lead as long as I have your word that you’ll explain everything to me when we’re alone.”

“Follow my lead,” he echoed dubiously.

“Yes,” I replied firmly.  “Don’t try to manipulate me.  Just give me a sign as to what you want.  Gesture.  Whisper in my ear.  Pass me a note.  Something.”

“My priority is to keep you safe.”

I nodded.  “I know that’s the end game.  But I still wanna hear how it’s supposed to happen.  I need to be involved.”

He drummed his fingers on the table cloth.  “This is a team sport?” he ventured.

Finally!  Here we go.  Same page and all.  “Yes.  You and I are a team.  You’re gonna be calling the shots – that’s fine – but, y’know, __call__  them.  Communicate.”

He stared at me for a long, __long__ moment.  “Fine.  Take your wedding ring off.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Metal conducts magic.  That’s the purpose of adornments.  If other fey see you with it on, they’ll wonder who is wearing its mate and whether you are controlling that person or the other way around.”  

“Seriously?”

He nodded once.

“Is that why you got upset when I bought them?”

“Aside from not knowing where you were at the time.”

I bit back a wince.  Realizing he’d “lost” me—given the nature of our relationship, that must have been uncomfortable.

“I did not believe that you wanted to control me,” he assured me, “but I was confused.  Even if you wanted me to control you magically, I couldn’t.  Shouldn’t.  No, the temptation is too great.”

I looked down at my wedding band.  “Temptation?”

“All fey have a feral side.”

“What are you afraid you’d do if…?”  I nodded toward his bare left hand.

“Duo.”  His jaw clenched.  “The one time I mounted you—”

Holy fuck.  I couldn’t believe he’d actually said that.  Here.  In the middle of a restaurant.

“I’d been so close to losing control,” he quietly confessed.  “You saw me at the New York dell.  That’s what the bloodlust does to us.”

“You didn’t hurt me.”

“I wasn’t permitted to hurt you.”

“So, wedding rings are a no-go for us.”

“They are dangerous, yes.  Also, any fey who saw us wearing them would be very wary.”

I sighed.  “Which is the opposite of what we hope to accomplish.  Right.  I get it now.”  I reached for the silver band on my ring finger, encircled it in my grip, and… and just that simple motion was enough to make my chest ache.  I twisted the skin-warmed metal back and forth, but couldn’t bring myself to pull it off.  Not yet.  Just one more deep breath and then I’d—

“Duo.”

“Hm?”

I looked up and was startled by the sadness in Trowa’s open expression.  “Just wear your gloves.”

“And if someone grabs my hand?”

“That someone will be me.”

My right hand dropped away.  I left the wedding band right where it was.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see our waitress weaving her way over with a laden serving tray.  

“I don’t want to make you unhappy,” Trowa murmured quickly.

“I know,” I answered, meeting his gaze.  That didn’t mean he wasn’t gonna piss me off a whole fuckin’ lot, though.

Trowa held himself perfectly still as our orders were set down in front of us.  I noticed how the waitress angled herself away from him, but she didn’t seem too bothered by me.  Did she have something against guys with body art or could she sense that there was something different about him?  It had taken a solid week for Chang to be within arm’s reach of Master O without tensing up.  I should have asked if the reaction had been on principle or out of instinct.

The moment we were left alone, my husband started fidgeting.  I felt it, too: I wanted so badly to reach across the table and take his hand.  Our discussion, while not particularly hostile, had caused some discord between us.

“Trowa,” I called softly and he glanced up from his untouched plate of smoked salmon and capers.  “We’re OK.  I promise.”

I did what I could to prove it, passing him the salt that he hadn’t asked for and making sure our fingers brushed as he took it.  He set it aside unused, his lips curving into the tiniest of smiles.  That brief touch helped enough that we could clear our plates, but as soon as we paid for lunch, I implemented a campaign of accidental touches that would undoubtedly drive one or both of us insane: I held the door open for him and then leaned in just as he passed by so that his shoulder bumped my chest; outside on the cracked sidewalk, I promptly found an excuse to trip and Trowa’s hands caught me easily.

“Wow.  Am I a klutz today or what?”

“I don’t mind.”

I bopped my fist on his arm and I glimpsed a brief, playful grin before I found myself in a headlock.  “Jesus, Tro!” I bitched, nudging him in the side with my elbow.  He released me with a subtle caress of his thumb against my jaw.

Damnit.  I was pretty sure that meant he won the award for Sneaky.

We still had a little time to kill, so we meandered a bit.  It was probably best to spend as little time as we had to at the bus station just in case the surveillance cameras were actually working.

I took every chance I could to point out some dumb thing or other by grabbing his arm or pushing on his shoulder.  Hell, I knew he didn’t care that the woman across the street looked like Solo’s ex number fifteen.  He feigned interest, though, and collided with my bent elbow as he turned to take a gander.

Oh, yeah.  We were pros at this: not-flirting flirting on the street in broad daylight.  Bhoo yeah.

I was forced to keep us out of quiet alleyways – the memory of the ambush that had landed me in Treize’s summer house by the lake was still fresh – and Trowa didn’t try to convince me otherwise.  He was probably just as wary as I was.  Even though it would be a convenient place to sneak a kiss and a cuddle.

We managed the cuddle part on the bus.  We were the first ones to board and I beat a path to the back row.  None of the other six passengers chose seats near ours.  I wasn’t sure what counted as “finger sex” or “palm fucking” but I was pretty sure we’d marathoned it by the time the bus pulled in at our stop at a quarter after seven.

“We have a little time before check-in,” I observed.  “You wanna see the sights?”

He hummed an affirmative and I smirked as he ogled the way my half hard cock was filling out the front of my jeans.  What can I say?  He’d been pretty damn appreciative of every crease, scar, and curve on my hands.  Both of them.

I guess I wasn’t bad at it myself; the view I had of him was equally interesting.  Too bad there were zero private spots short of a stall in a public men’s room.  Which was just—ugh.  No.

So we walked through the well-groomed streets past shop after shop that advertised souvenirs and Maid of the Mist tickets at discount prices.  We heard the falls before we saw them of course.  I mean, hell.  It’s Niagara.

“So, welcome to our honeymoon, babe,” I teased when he mirrored my pose, leaning his arms on the railing of the observation platform.  I bumped his shoulder with mine.

“Honeymoon?” he asked.

“Yeah.  When newlyweds – like us – go on a trip together and do what we did this morning.  A lot.”

His gaze slid in my direction.  God damn but his smirk was sexy.  “I prefer honeymoons to dates.”

I barked out a laugh.

The area wasn’t very crowded and this __was__  supposed to be one of the most romantic spots in North America, so I dared to hook my fingers around his until we were holding hands.  I’d never explicitly told Trowa about the range of attitudes toward same-sex couples – from “D’awww” to “Disgusting!” and every variation in between – but he’d long since picked up on my wariness of displaying affection in public.  That brief peck on my cheek in the coffee shop had been the single exception.  I only hoped I’d be as observant where we were going.

“Hey, there fellas!  Wanna buy a map to the secret caves behind the falls?”

I turned and blinked at Heero and Sylvia.

Sylvia grinned and continued, “I’ll cut ya a deal.”

Heero nodded to us.  “Trowa.  Duo.”

Trowa nodded in reply.  He slid his hand from mine and gripped my arm.

“A deal, huh?” I replied to Sylvia’s gamine grin.  “If you take pocket lint, then let’s talk business.”

She giggled.

“Follow me,” Heero said with characteristic abruptness and pivoted on his heel.

“How are you, Duo?” Sylvia asked, turning back to speak to me as she jogged every other step in order to keep pace with Yuy.

“Can’t complain.  Yourself?”

“Oh, I could complain about plenty.”  She nodded at Heero and winked.

“Hey, Tro.  I think I could use a restroom here before the adventure begins.”

Heero tilted his head to the left.  “There’s one over there.”

“Cool.  Hey, this isn’t one of those where you gotta pay for the t.p., is it?  Syl, you got any quarters on ya?”

She turned her attention toward her purse.

Trowa and I struck.  He drew the feykin from the plastic bag of clothing in his grasp.  Heero turned toward the motion, but I chucked my own bag at his chest, leaving both of my very lethal bare hands free.  In less than three seconds, Trowa and I had herded a startled, wide-eyed Sylvia and disgruntled Heero into the men’s restroom.

“Game over,” I told them.

“You are not Sylvia Noventa,” Trowa accused the female.

Not-Sylvia pouted.  And actual recognizable pout.  Not Trowa’s weird pissy version of one.

Heero grunted and a smirk tugged at his lips.

I blinked and—wait.  Had her hair just turned dark?  Like, __black?__   I blinked a second time and, sure enough, Heero Yuy’s blonde companion had morphed into a female fey of slight build with short, spiky dark hair and blue eyes.  My brows arched at the Thriller-era black leather jacket, smiley face T-shirt, and ripped up jeans.  It looked like someone was still stuck in the punk rock years.

“Good job, guys,” she congratulated us.  Only she didn’t sound all that happy about it.

Heero’s next words were enlightening.  “You can deliver your ration of wine before dinner this evening.”

“I’ll do no such thing, Yuy!  You were supposed to be consort-y and stuff.  Not giving me the obvious brush-off.  The bet’s void.”

I rolled my eyes and glanced at Trowa as he put the blade away.  “A very fey greeting to you, too, Heero.”  He glanced at the female fey.  “And this mock is?”

“Hilde Schbeiker,” she supplied.  “Commanding the forces west of the Mississippi.”  She offered both of her hands, palms up and fingers splayed, in greeting to both of us.  “It’s great to see you again, Silencer.  And Shinigami – it’s a __real__  pleasure.”

“It almost wasn’t for either of you,” I reminded them and held out my hand for the bag Heero was still hugging to his chest.  “Give it up, dude, or Trowa will fight you for it.”  I’d checked and mine was indeed the shopping bag with the lube in it.

Heero’s smirk deepened.  “That is inevitable,” he remarked, but handed the bag over without further resistance.

Just then, I heard footsteps approaching.  A guy (who had clearly been smartly dressed by his new wife) strolled into the restroom, giving us a vague nod in passing.

We took that as our cue to depart.  “What the hell, Hilde?” I demanded as we put some distance between us and the facilities.  “He totally saw you.”

“I’m a mock,” she said with a shrug.  “He saw what he expected to see.  Just like you and the Silencer saw who you expected to see standing next to Yuy.”

She was right.  When she’d called out, I hadn’t recognized her voice, but the illusion she’d created had convinced me to disregard the observation.  Until about ten seconds later when she hadn’t behaved like the Sylvia I’d met – albeit briefly – at all.  Hell, even her posture had been “wrong.”  Heero’s total indifference to her presence had clinched it, though.

“You need to work on your acting skills,” I critiqued.

“Oh, Shinigami – can I call you Shinigami? – you’ll be impressed before long.  Trust me.”

Well.  I guess we’d see about that.

I gestured grandly for our guides to get on with guiding the way.  Trowa and I followed Heero and Hilde along the cobbled sidewalks past the tourist traps and then stepped onto a slightly mossy path marked with a cheerful visitors’ board that promised an unforgettable view of the falls.  Were we really going where I thought we were going?  I glanced at Trowa, but said nothing; it wasn’t as if he could tell me.  Whatever memories he might have had of this place from his previous life were long gone.

It might have been a romantic stroll under other circumstances.  The lush canopy of leaves formed a verdant tunnel as we meandered closer to the edge of the falls.  And then, at a fork in the trail, Heero took the route that had been roped off with a sign that announced “Undergoing Trail Maintenance.”

Soil gave way to rock.  Flat ground stuttered into steps that led downward.  Down to what appeared to be some kind of utility station deal.  Heero ignored the “High Voltage” warning on the door and shouldered it open.

We crowded inside, Trowa placing himself between me and the others.  Hilde pulled a cord and a bare lightbulb clicked on.  The door shut behind us.  Narrow, concrete stairs marched on ahead of us and into fucking infinity.

“Well, this looks like a good place to change clothes,” I observed.

Trowa nodded and turned toward our escort so that I could maneuver behind the barrier of his back.  I appreciated both the privacy and the fact that he was taking point.  I shucked off my street clothes in record time and grimaced my way through knotting each tie of my fey-cloth duds.  Ugh.  I'd had enough of these fucking things to last me a lifetime, but it wasn't as if I could just order a set in cornflower blue online.

“Ready,” I reported in, speaking through the cloth over my lips.  Yup, I was going all-out for this.  Not just to protect fey but to freak them the fuck out.  Which, not gonna lie, was gonna be __fun.__

Trowa regarded me, his gaze sweeping me from toe to head.  Then he leaned in and gently tugged the fabric down far enough to give me a deep kiss.  “Ready,” he agreed on a breath, tucking the cloth back into place and then turning toward Yuy.

We descended.  And descended.  Aaaaand descended some more.  Lemme just say, those stairs went down for fucking ever.  This was an impressive entrance, that was for sure.  Hella easy to defend against unwanted guests... which was probably why Yuy had chosen it as our way in.  There had to be others, but if he wasn’t completely sure we hadn't been followed or weren’t being watched, then the most obvious and accessible but most perilous to traverse was definitely the entrance to use.  Rather than giving away the location of others that would be less easy to defend.

So, yeah, it was mind-numbingly monotonous.  And clammy with the moisture from the nearby falls.  And kinda creepy with only bare lightbulbs to light the way.  I just about crowed with glee when we reached the first landing, but then I saw that the steps merely veered off in a new direction and continued.  So, nothing to get excited about after all.  More landings, more steps, more of the same for what felt like an hour.  And then things started moving upward.  Thank God there weren’t as many steps going up as there had been going down.

And then we stopped.  Heero waited until Trowa and I had caught up and then turned his attention to cranking open the wheel-shaped latch on the small metal door blocking our path.  Hell, the thing looked like it had been cut outta Captain Nimo’s Nautilus itself.  I was tempted to hold my breath just in case we were greeted by gushing water.

But it wasn’t water; it was bright light.  Retina-scarring bright, white light.  Holy fuck.  Ow.

Again, I had to admire the simple if effective security measures... even if my eyeballs were on the verge of exploding.

Heero passed Trowa two pairs of some type of glasses.  My husband made sure I had mine before putting his own on.  Oh, yeah.  Much better.

I don't know exactly what kind of welcome I'd been expecting, but a cavernous empty room was kind of a let-down.  Neither Heero nor Hilde offered any information on where we were, but I could smell something that might have been – or was on its way to being – edible.  Maybe this was the mess hall and the kitchens were close by?  But if that was the case, then where were all the tables?

Everything was grey concrete and rusty metal grates.  We clattered up a half story to a catwalk that encircled the room and the view showed just more of the same: metal submarine doors – some closed and others open – leading somewhere.  Something about this place was jogging my memory and it wasn’t until Yuy herded us into a wide hall lined with more metal doors that I figured out what it was: this was the resistance-version of the London clan’s maze-like facilities.

“The Silencer’s quarters,” Heero suddenly announced, barring our way from venturing further down the hall and directing our attention to the left with a nod.

“Go in or go back,” Hilde added, her humorless tone surprising me.  Weren’t we all supposed to be on the same side?

Heero held out his hand for our glasses.  I tugged mine off and passed them to Trowa.  He handed both sets over without complaint.  At least our eyes had adjusted to the lighting in this place.

“Duo,” Trowa called and I moved to stand nearly flush against his side.  “Stay very close behind me.”

So we were gonna fight.  I tore the glove off of my right hand.  OK.  I could do this.

But then he surprised me by heading for the front steps leading to the closed metal door.

The hell?  I leaped after him, sticking close like he’d told me to but trying to keep an eye on our guides.  Could we really trust them?  Heero and Hilde were both tense; were they just as wary of us, then?

Trowa grabbed the ring of metal and wrenched it to the side, disengaging the locking mechanism with a cloud of rust dust.  The door swung open.  He stepped carefully over the threshold.  I kept my back to him as I followed.

I moved in and to the side.  Groped for the door and swung it shut on the pair of fey still watching from the corridor.  Then I pulled out my cell phone so I could use the lighted screen to see by.  And what I saw... whoa.  The walls on both sides of the doorway were covered with sketches and photos – easily more than a hundred of them.  Most were faded and yellowed with age.

“There should be a scanner,” Trowa murmured to me on a breath.

Right.  There had to be security measures in here, which meant there had to be a way to deactivate them.  In the case of fey (who might be killed but could also be summoned back to life) that meant it had to be some kind of biometric deal rather than a number combination or password that would undoubtedly be forgotten by a returning fey.

I looked over the photos carefully, wary of lifting or shifting the wrong one and triggering some sort of pressure-sensitive device.  Most of the faces I didn't recognize at all.  The only one I could pick out easily was Trowa’s, only he didn’t look like my husband.  This Trowa – the Silencer – was older, unsmiling, hardened.

I hadn’t realized how rare a thing Trowa’s smile was.

And then I saw her.  A young woman with a cloud of auburn hair curling under her jaw.  It was Cathy.  I couldn’t believe it.  Cathy, the yoked fey from Caerlaverock who had tracked us down on the third floor and evicted us from my old room.  She hadn’t been smiling then, but she was grinning from ear-to-ear in this photo.  Hell, even Heero – older than I was used to seeing him – looked almost relaxed as she leaned against his shoulder.  She’d hooked her arm through Trowa’s and was visibly pulling him into the frame.  He was in the middle of rolling his eyes in poorly masked amusement.  It was the only emotion I’d seen on his face in any of the keepsakes tacked up on the wall.

I blindly reached back and, catching a bit of fabric from Trowa’s shirt sleeve, I tugged.  He turned neatly, tucking me up against him to save space and I angled my phone’s screen at the photo that had caught my eye.

Without a word, Trowa leaned forward.  He wrapped an arm around my waist and guided me back against the door, and then he slid his other hand beneath the lower edge of the photo.

A green light flickered and scanned.

For a breathless moment, nothing happened.

There was a soft metallic whirr and an electronic bleep.  The security system was going off-line.

And then the lights flickered on.

And what there was to see!  Holy wow.  The Silencer had been one helluva hoarder.  Shit, if the security system hadn’t gotten us, we probably would have broken our necks tripping over all the stacks of crap in the dark.  There was a clear path from the doorway to the bed and workstation and another that curved around the corner... hopefully to a bathroom.

“Whoa,” I breathed, edging half a step closer to the nearest tower of wooden crates.  The top one contained files.  All of it was files.  Hand-written documents.  I even recognized the writing as having come from Trowa’s hand.  “Did you leave yourself notes on Goddamn everything?”

“The highlights,” he agreed.

“Wait.  Highlights?  How many years of shit is in here?”

“As many as I’d thought important enough to document,” he replied, sifting through the stack opposite the one I’d zeroed in on.

“Damn.  Wish I’d brought one of those travel scanners,” I grumbled.  It would take years to get through all this.

I heard a soft clatter behind me and glanced over my shoulder to see Trowa pawing through a small closet.  He pulled out a camouflage jumpsuit – it was like the one he was wearing in most of the photos I’d seen.  It was also waaay too big for him.  Well, the size he was now, anyway.

He looked up at me and I tugged the cloth off of my face and pushed the makeshift hood back so he could see my reaction to what he didn’t say – didn’t have to say.  “You gotta age shift,” I said for him.

The Silencer was older – a fighter in his prime – and the Silencer was who the resistance was familiar with.  Given that we were trapped in the depths of their New England headquarters, it would be to our advantage to do everything we could to strengthen their trust.  We needed this.

I blew out a breath and slumped onto the thin pallet.  The springs squeaked through the rotted mattress foam, poking me in the ass.  I didn’t bother to shift spots – one would be pretty much like any other.

“Duo,” my husband murmured, squeezing past the towers of boxed-up memoirs and tossing the jumpsuit onto covers beside me.  He knelt before me, his hands going to my knees and doodling through the fabric of my trousers.  I recognized the design; it was the same as the scars on his knees.  “Duo?”

“It’s stupid,” I told him in answer to his prompting.  “You’re gonna be even bigger and badder than you already are.  I’m just… me.  This.  Forever.”  I tried to laugh it off, but damn it—“I can’t stand shoulder to shoulder with you.  I’m not… enough.”

“Duo,” he breathed, his hands cradling my face.  Our skin crackled with the magic we each wielded in contrary ways.  “You are so much.  There’s plenty of you for me.  For this.”

How could I believe him?  Don’t get me wrong; I wanted to, but—

“Show me.”

It wasn’t until Trowa reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head that I realized those words had come from me.  He stripped out of his clothes – the clothes he’d picked out in a rural town that was a forty-minute drive from an old farmhouse – and stood before me.  And then he aged.  Slowly.  I watched the years pass over him, emerge from within him, weigh on him.

Eighteen turned into twenty.

Then twenty-five.

Thirty.

Thirty-five.

Thirty-five: the same age as the Silencer in the photos.  I could see it in the same broad shoulders.  The same ropes of muscle along his long arms.  The same large, capable hands.  And then there were added bonuses that hadn’t been clear on mere photo paper: abs like a fucking wall of granite, lean hips, strong thighs.  Jesus Christ.  Every inch of him was the male form, idealized.  A damned Greek statue, a hero carved from marble.  Hell, even his feet were all strength – tendons and muscle and bone.  There was no softness in him at all with the exception of the view right in front of my nose.

And even though he wasn’t aroused, those bits were fucking impressive.

I looked up as he leaned toward me, placed his hands on either side of me upon the bed and lowered himself to kneel once more.

I tried to think of something to say.  Anything.

He stared at me with his beautiful green eyes and that was where I found my courage.  His eyes – these were the eyes of the boy I’d married, the boy who loved me with his entire being, the boy who woke me with kisses and remembered to get the milk out of the fridge for me every morning and tried to be human enough for my brother to deal with and took the backseat even though his legs were longer than mine and of the two of us it should really be him riding shotgun.

This was my Trowa.  The guy in those photos on the walls – the guy who had the same face – that was the Silencer.  And the Silencer wasn’t in the room with us right now.  Right now, it was just me and my fey.

I lifted my hand and pushed his bangs out of his face.

He leaned into the touch.  His hands moved to my hips.  I shifted, opening my knees and urging him closer.  I closed my eyes as our mouths touched and I realized that it didn’t matter how old he looked.  His lips, his tongue, and his taste were all the same.  The way he moved his hot mouth: same.  So much the same.

I felt a wave of heat shimmer through me and reluctantly pulled back.  Still, I didn’t open my eyes.  “Baby?” I checked.

“I am yours, Duo.”

His voice was the same, too.  Soft, mellow, dangerous.  The same voice that had both drawn me and terrified me in the forest of Caerlaverock.

I opened my eyes and brushed my bare fingertips over his beard stubble.  With a nod, I told him, “I’m ready.  You?”

He nodded.  “I will tell you or show you what I need,” he promised.

“And I’ll be paying attention.”

His lips quirked.  A single tear spilled from his eye.  I leaned forward and sipped it off of his skin.  I didn’t ask him why we were here, why we were doing this, why we were playing this game.  I knew why.  There was only one reason: he loved me.

“I love you,” I reminded him and his smile was—Jesus, it was beautiful no matter what age he was wearing.  I grabbed for his jumpsuit and tugged on his hard triceps, urging him up.  “C’mon, babe.  It’s time.”

He gazed down at me – hell, he was taller than Solo now – and that fact alone should have made me furious with my own inadequacies.  But the look in his eyes…  There was no escaping that look or the fact that I was his companion, his husband, his friend, and I was gonna be right by his side through this.  That look made me his equal and there was nothing that was ever going to take that away from either of us.


	2. The General Returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duo POV
> 
> Fight theme music: “Points of Authority” by Linkin Park  
> Silencer/Sicarian theme music: “Skin To Bone” by Linkin Park

We emerged from the Silencer’s quarters to a genuine welcome committee. At least in terms of numbers.  The corridor was packed.  But there were only two faces I could put names to.  Hilde was standing directly opposite our door and at her side was a familiar blonde.

Sylvia greeted me with a smile.  “Duo.  It’s good to see you again.”

“You, too.”  I could have said more, but I figured I’d save it for later.  After all, I wasn’t the main attraction in this show.  Speaking of which…

I stepped aside and Trowa joined me on the top step of his old quarters.  He had to hunch his way through the doorway and when he straightened – hell, it was all I could do to keep my chin up and my shoulders square.  And even then he was almost a head taller than me.  But I reminded myself of the unshakable truth: the only person who could make me feel inferior to him was me.  And I was not gonna do that to myself.  Or to us.

Sylvia’s gaze moved from me to him.  “Silencer.”

Waves of whispers undulated through the gathered fey.

He answered.  “Sylvia Noventa.  Is Heero waiting?”

She nodded.  “He’s ready whenever you are.”

It took every bit of my concentration to keep myself from dwelling on what was about to happen – what had to happen.

Trowa’s hand pressed against the small of my back, his thumb rubbed a question mark against my skin through the fey cloth, asking with his touch.  Was I ready for this?  Jesus, I sure hoped so.  Regardless, it was too late to drag my feet now.  I shifted closer to him in answer, reaching behind his back to pull the door completely shut.  The clang echoed, quieting the murmurings.

Trowa translated my action into words: “Now is convenient.”

Hilde grinned.  Hugely.  “This way.”

I stared after her, wondering if I’d really just imagined that her smile had consisted of sharp, pointed teeth.  Sylvia fell into step beside me at a respectful distance.  Trowa was very close on my other side.

“So, this is a big deal, huh?” I mused lightly.

Sylvia answered.  “Yes.  It will be broadcast to all the bases.  Live.”

I glanced away from the intent gazes of the fey who moved aside to clear a path for us.  “You seen this kinda thing before?”

Her gaze flickered up toward Trowa.  “The Silencer was the only leader the resistance had known until...”

“Right.”  Until Treize had captured him and then ordered the philosophers to un-name him and re-make him.  Until some kind of jail-break scenario had happened and Trowa had ended up with his head cut off and stored in a fucking archive of fey crimes against humanity.  I tried not to think about that.  That wasn’t why we were here.  Shit that was not on the agenda would be dealt with later.

I tried to come up with something harmless to talk about, but every thought that crossed my mind seemed crass and ignorant.  We moved through the crowd until we emerged in the mess hall.  Or whatever it was supposed to be.  At the moment, it looked like the perfect set-up for a knock-down, drag-out, no-holds-barred fight to the near-death.  Which was what happened to be on tonight’s agenda.

Trowa had explained that this was how things were done.

“Can’t Heero just, y’know, hand off the baton or something?” I’d asked him.

“He could, but the fight is an opportunity for me to prove that I am who they think I am.”

“A healer,” I’d summarized.

“A fighter.”

“Well, hell, babe.  I’ve known that for ages.  Anyone who doesn’t see it ain’t worth your time.”

We paused at the top of the metal stairs and I surveyed the gathered fey.  They peered at us from the catwalks on __both__  levels.  Even the ground floor was packed.  I would not have been surprised to learn that over a thousand people had crammed into this place to see Heero Yuy, the current leader of the resistance, answer the challenge of the Silencer, the founder and former general to whom everyone here had pledged their lives and loyalty.

“I won’t kill him,” Trowa had promised back when we’d been exploring this angle, making plans for our next move.  “Or claim his flesh.”

“Claim, er… do I wanna know what that means?”

“The winner is due the spine of the defeated.”

“Eugh.  Seriously?  You, like, cut it out?”

“…tear.”

“With—with your bare hands?”  I’d shuddered even before he’d confirmed it with a nod.  “What the— _ _why?”__

“The spinal cord contains the majority of a fey’s muscle memories.  It’s believed that if consumed, one can gain strength and skill from their enemies.”

“Thank you for waiting until after lunch to tell me this.  Jesus.”

“That’s not what the fight will be about,” he’d promised.

“Good to know.  So, just kick his ass, heal ‘im up, and we’re good to go, yeah?”

“That is the plan.”

The plan.  It hadn’t changed in the weeks since we’d made it.  I drew confidence from that as we headed down the steps to the open space below.  I felt Trowa’s hand slide up my back until his arm was draped annoyingly over my shoulders.  Didn’t complain, though.  This little display was kinda the whole point.

We reached the edge of the fight area.  The whispers from hundreds of witnesses on three levels fell like a misty rain.  Trowa turned his face toward my temple and said quietly, “Stay with Sylvia.”

“Heal fast,” I replied.

Our eyes met and he gave me a small smile.

Beside Sylvia, the crowd parted, revealing a Heero Yuy who had clearly brought his game.  He’d aged up to meet the challenge and I felt a chill dance along my spine.  In terms of fighting experience, Heero had the advantage.  But in terms of skill… well, I’d seen for myself how effective Trowa’s healing abilities were.  Still, I kinda wished I’d pressed Solo for details on the fight between Tro and Meiran.

“You just—you don’t wanna know.  Trust me on this one, li’l bro.”

I had.  Now I was regretting that I’d taken his word for it.  It would have been nice to have some idea of what to expect.

Heero and Trowa locked gazes.

Silence spread from their standoff until I could hear myself breathing.

“State your challenge,” Heero demanded curtly.

Trowa responded with quiet confidence, “I, the Silencer, challenge you for leadership of the resistance and its fighters.”

Heero nodded and reached for the tank top he was wearing, tugging it off over his head.  I gaped as his hands moved to the fly of his cargo pants.  I tore my gaze away from all the bare skin I was seeing just in time to watch Trowa’s jumpsuit fall to a puddle of fabric around the combat boots he’d toed off.

What the hell.  My husband was standing buck naked in a room full of strangers.  Just… just what the actual hell?

Hilde held out a pair of silk leggings to each fey.  They didn’t take their eyes off of each other as they stepped into the garments.  Wearing that and only that, they moved into the open space barefoot and empty handed.

Heero turned left, skirting the edge and watching his opponent intently.  Trowa matched his movements, his gaze equally steady.  Directly across from each other, they stopped.

A drumbeat of dread thudded deep in my belly.  

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Heero moving into a crouch, but my eyes were on Trowa as my husband mirrored his opponent, rolled his shoulders, and gave his head a shake.  Like he was shedding water droplets from his skin.  My throat tightened.  I’d always assumed that fey were human-like.  At least in appearance.

But they weren’t.

That had never been more obvious that it was now.  Trowa’s lips parted and his smile – Jesus Christ, it looked just like Hilde’s had upstairs.  Shark-like teeth; triangles of razor-sharp enamel.  His eyes flashed with green fire.  His shoulders hunched and muscles bunched.  The hair at the back of his neck visibly stood on end.  His fingers curled and though his nails remained short and neat, the air around them shimmered, framing the faint suggestion of razor-sharp claws.

Heero growled.  Shifted a step to the right.

Trowa tilted his chin down.  Braced one hand upon the floor.  Dug his fingers into the cement beneath his palm.  Unbelievably, the surface cracked and crumbled under the force of his nails as he gouged its surface.

Trowa rumbled an inarticulate, hungry sound.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

Beside me, Sylvia shuddered once, folding her arms over her chest.

And then it began.  They surged toward each other in a head-on collision.  Eyes flashing, teeth gleaming, claws slashing.

Too fast for my brain to catalog individual movements.  It was easier to keep track of the sounds.  A snarl—an elbow to a chin.  The thud of a knee against ribs.  The tearing sound of flesh from a claw strike.  The splatter of green blood on the floor.

They separated as swiftly as they’d initially crashed together.  The fingers of Trowa’s left hand shimmered with green blood – the marks on the back of Yuy’s neck were bleeding freely.  There were five deep scratches across Trowa’s belly that healed shut even as I watched.  Holy shit, had he nearly been disemboweled?

Trowa began circling.  Heero mirrored him.  Watching.  Tracking.  

Stopping.

A spray of broken cement arched through the air where Trowa had been.  His charge was a blur.  Heero spun to the side, lashed out, caught nothing but air as Trowa leaped back.  Landed on the balls of his feet.  Pounced.

Slashing claws.

Green blood.

Spittle.

Snarls.

The sounds of elbows and knees pounding against flesh.  One.  Two.  Three.

Yuy dug his claws into Trowa’s arm and hauled him over his shoulder.  Tossed him like he was a frickin’ sack of potatoes.

Trowa landed hard and then rolled away, gaining his feet easily.  I heard a soft __pop!__  as a bone slid back into its socket – Yuy’d dislocated my husband’s shoulder with that throw.

Trowa shook the hair from his eyes and prowled closer.  Yuy was panting heavily, his right arm gashed and gushing green blood down his fingertips.

Trowa’s nostrils flared.  His lips stretched into a terrible grimace of hunger.  The air in the colossal space buzzed with an urgency that went beyond the shrieks and snarls of the crowd.  It called for more blood.  More pain.  More _everything_.

Again and again, they came together.  Yuy’s attacks were precise, but Trowa healed nearly as soon as his flesh was torn.  Yuy, on the other hand, had no such advantage.  There were gashes across his belly, scratches upon his lower back, his ear – the left one – was torn, and Trowa had gouged his shins with his toenails.  Heero growled and gnashed his teeth and I wondered if he could even feel the pain and blood loss.

Sylvia made a small sound of distress and I blindly reached for her hand with my right.  I opened my mouth to assure her that it was almost over.

Trowa smiled and – God help us all – I think he was enjoying himself.

The fight was almost over, yes, but the butchery had only just begun.

The next attack made it clear: all of this had simply been a warm-up for him.  Sylvia cringed toward me and I pulled her away.  Pressed her face to my shoulder.  Forced myself to watch for both of us.

A slashed hamstring and ripped Achilles’ tendon.

Claws digging deep into a groin.

Teeth shredding a throat.

Something was wrong.  Trowa wasn’t in control.  If he ever had been.  The energy permeating the air was driving him—driving the fight itself.  The crowd—it was the crowd.  I looked out upon the sea of faces and saw the same feral fever in their flashing eyes and sharpened teeth.  Even Hilde.  They were each and every one of them caught up in the violence.

__Crack!_ _

I whipped back around and gaped as Heero dangled above the floor in Trowa’s grasp.  His head lolled to the side – a broken neck.

Trowa released him and Heero fell into a pile.  The Silencer shoved him over with his foot and Heero rolled twice, his arms flopping uselessly as he sprawled on his belly, his back barely rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths.

Sylvia was crying, striking my back with her fists.  Her mouth was moving, but I couldn’t hear her words over the chaos and my own disbelief.

The figure looming over the body of his opponent, grinning that terrible and sharp smile, was not my husband.  It was a fey gone feral.

This had definitely not been part of the plan.

I tore off my right glove and bounded into the arena just as Trowa stepped upon Heero’s lower back.  He reached down with his sharp-clawed fingers, looking for all the world like he was really gonna tear Yuy’s spine out through his shredded skin.  While the guy was still alive no less.

He looked up just as I tackled him to the floor, to the blood and bits of skin and chips of concrete.  He snarled and Jesus Christ he was big and strong, but my right hand was bare and I grabbed for his wrist and—

__You’re mine!  You come back to me, Goddamnit.  I won’t let them have you.  You’re mine!  No one else’s—MINE!_ _

He yelped and I tumbled off of him before he could toss me across the room.  I couldn’t place myself between him and Yuy – couldn’t see how that would help matters from a fey perspective.  And things were already fucked.

The Sicarian was in the midst of the fey resistance.  This wasn’t just a rumor anymore.  A whisper that had been breathed in shadowy corners.  The weapon that could destroy a fey right down to his or her very soul was real – was here in their midst – and now __everyone__  knew it.

Revealing my identity like this had __not__ been part of the plan, either.  Not even close.

Each and every fey was frozen in place, their eerie, predatory gazes focused on Trowa’s burning arm as he struggled to heal himself.  And anyone who didn’t have a clear view of it – wasn’t able to see it with their own two eyes – was certainly watching on a monitor or tablet or phone on a live fucking broadcast.  They all knew what I was.  They stared, frozen in place as their cold minds raced, trying to work out a way to eliminate me.

I forced myself to keep my eyes on Trowa.  He was kneeling, his arm glowing with healing power as he focused hard with his eyes squeezed shut and breathing slow.  I could just about count down to when he’d be good as new; I timed it so that the embers gave their final flicker just as I pushed my face cloth aside, slid to my knees, and placed my hands on the tattered silk across his thighs.  Either he would kiss me or try to kill me.

His eyes opened.  Green eyes among green blood splatter.

“Duo,” he breathed.  He reached for me, hauled me close and kissed me gently.  Briefly.

__This is my companion,__  he told his kind with that single touch.

I placed my bare right hand on his bare side.   _ _This is my consort,__ I told the fey of the resistance with that simple gesture.

He swiveled closer, tucking me against his body, and stretched out an arm toward Heero.

God, let Yuy still be alive.  It was hard to tell what with the blood and the broken neck, but then his chest expanded with a rattling, wheezing breath, and Trowa’s hand was glowing with healing power, knitting Heero’s torn skin seamlessly back together.

I could just about hear the gears turning in the breathless silence as the fey absorbed every nuance:

The Silencer – the general of the resistance – had returned in undefeatable glory and with his human companion… who happened to be the Sicarian… who had just used his deadly power to stop his own consort from claiming the life of a defeated opponent… who the Silencer was now healing.

Together, the Silencer and the Sicarian, were saving the life of another fey.  Freely.

And that last little tidbit was really blowing their minds, I could tell.

Heero sat up.  He was still covered in blood and he looked pale, but he was alive and mobile.  Trowa stood, drawing me to my feet, and held out his hand to Heero.

Yuy’s blue eyes flickered between Trowa’s blood-smeared face and his gore-covered hand, and then he smirked.  Reached out.  Accepted my husband’s offer and clasped his wrist with both hands before levering himself upright.

“I concede, General,” Yuy stated.

Trowa inclined his head.  “I accept, Captain Yuy.”

“Whoo-hoo!” Hilde whooped loudly, breaking the awe-struck silence.  “Let’s get to the chow!”

Chaos erupted as bodies shifted and formed currents of excited babbling.  The scent of spices and yeast teased my nose.  Neither Trowa nor I moved a muscle.

As fey approached us with deference to offer their congratulations and engage in some blatant brown-nosing, I spied Sylvia, who somehow managed __not__  to race to Yuy’s side.  Her pace was crisp and she easily dodged milling fey to slide into his arms, her hands pressing over his chest and around his waist to his back, no doubt checking for herself that her consort was all in one piece.  

The smile she gave me in the midst of the din was the kind of thing life debts were made of.

Trowa’s sticky fingers rubbed circles into the back of my neck through the fey cloth.  I glanced up at the satisfied look on his blood-painted face and I wondered.  What the hell did he have to be so fucking smug about?  Our original plan to introduce the Sicarian to the resistance was toast.  Hell, I’d been __yea__  close to starting a fucking riot.

I was missing something here.

But this was so not the time or the place to have it out.  Long tables and benches surfed through the crowd and surrounded us.  Music started up – bone flutes and strange harps that sounded like electric guitars.  Raw hide drums that made my sternum vibrate with every beat.  Stainless steel platters and cups and pitchers clattered and thumped onto every surface as a banquet was pulled out of thin air.

Neither Trowa nor Yuy washed up.  The floor remained covered in gore and debris.  A shrine to violence.

The feast began like waves crashing against small islands: the arrival of food prompted some fey to sit while others claimed what they wanted and drifted elsewhere.  And then there were some who ignored the food entirely and grabbed an empty cup which they filled from flasks tied to their belts or slung over their backs on a strap.  The entire ground level was wall-to-wall fey with the exception of the place where the fight had happened.  There were even more fey on the catwalks and in the halls beyond.

Something told me we wouldn’t be going to bed before midnight.

Trowa leaned close and murmured.  “I mustn’t use my hands.”

I looked down.  He’d splayed his bloody, gristle-caked fingers against the tabletop for any and all to see.  “Showin’ off your warrior prowess, eh, babe?”

He smirked.  “Yes.”

“So… dinner’s gonna be fun.  With no hands an’ all,” I teased him.

“Very fun, as you’ll be the one feeding me.”

“I’m gonna do what now.”

His smile widened.

My eyes narrowed.  “If you bite me—”

“You’ll return the favor, yes,” he purred.  “I am looking forward to it.”

He totally was.

Truth be told, I kinda was, too.

There was no grand chime or anything to signal the start of the festivities.  Trowa leaned an elbow on the table, crowding me and opening his smiling lips in a mute demand for meal service.

“Asshole,” I muttered through a grin as I plucked up a strip of what looked like raw beef from his platter, dragged it through raw egg yolk and walked the slimy mess through grated wasabi before sliding the whole slippery lot into Trowa’s mouth.  His lips closed over my fingers before I could pull back and he sucked them clean.

“Too much wasabi,” he complained happily as he chewed.

“Oh, yeah?  Sorry about that, babe.”  I dragged two fingers through the egg yolk and smeared it across his lips.  “This help with the burn at all?”

He laughed, chasing after my sticky fingers with his tongue.

I marveled at his elated mood.  I’d never seen Trowa so… silly.  “What’s up, giggles?”

He sighed.  “Healing so much—the magic has a euphoric effect.  Brine olive next,” he ordered.

Plucking one up from the tray, I played, “You want it?  Come and get it, stud.”

I angled the olive this way and that, preventing Tro from getting more than a nibble off of it at a time.

From the seat beside mine, I heard Sylvia chuckle.

“Are we over the top?” I asked her, finally taking pity on Trowa and letting him bite down on the mangled olive.  I glanced back at her and snorted as I took in the antics that she and Heero were in the midst of.  She was airplaning a chunk of garlic bread at him.  Mashed garlic and olive oil dripped from the tip of his nose.

“You’re good, Duo,” she assured me, bopping Heero on the chin with the soggy bread.

“Duo…” Trowa crooned, nuzzling beneath my ear.  “I’m still hungry.”

I pinched his chin and promptly poked a slice of crisp apple into his mouth.  “Big baby.”

“Your baby,” he agreed around the piece of fruit, grinning through his bedraggled and blood-crusted bangs.

My looks-old-enough-to-be-my-father, massive, muscled, badass, gore-covered, vicious fighter of a baby.

Jesus fried a chicken.

“Pardon the intrusion, General.”

Trowa turned his attention to the fey opposite our table.  “Your name,” he demanded, all levity gone in an instant.

“Rein, sir.  Rein of the Kuressaare dell.  May I share with you my portion of wine?”

The general of the fey resistance nodded once.

His admirer grinned with relief and took a sip from his own cup – a gesture that I guessed was supposed to prove that it wasn’t poisoned or something – before topping off Trowa’s with the remaining contents.  When he stepped back from the edge of our table, I reached for the cup and lifted it to Trowa’s lips.  He sipped once and leaned away.

“My thanks, sir,” Rein gushed and bowed away.

I set the cup down with a smirk.  “You have a fanboy,” I told Trowa in an aside.

“I hope it’s this one,” he replied, doing his best to charm me with a sexy smile.  He nudged his lips against my jaw and nipped my skin.

Fuck.  “Watch it, babe.  You’ve got zero camouflage for a boner.”

“I’ve got you.”  Another nip.  “Hungry?”

Holy hell.  Was he seriously suggesting that I crawl under the table and suck him off?  Here?  In front of everybody??

“I beg your indulgence, sir.”

Thank God.  Another distraction.

This fey’s name was Andaluca of the Andorra dell and he also asked permission to share his ration of wine.  This time, after Trowa took the required sip and our swarthy visitor turned away, I helped myself to a gulp.

“Fuck me, that’s good,” I breathed around the flavors of fresh pear and juicy white peach exploding with a slight cranberry tang in my mouth.  And then it all went sparkly, tingling over my tongue and palate.  Holy hell.

Trowa nuzzled my ear.  “Careful with that,” he warned me on a rumble, “or I won’t get a fuck out of you later.”

__Later.__   I was gonna take that to mean “in private.”

I popped a carrot stick in my mouth and offered Trowa a second to munch on.  “I suppose you expect a hero’s reward or some shit?”

“That depends on what heroes are awarded.”

I reached for the cup again.  A little liquid courage would help me get this out.  As the wine worked its magic on my mouth, I told him, “A long, slow kiss and a hard fuck up against the wall.”

His eyes flashed.  His nostrils flared.

“Sir, a moment of your time, if it pleases you.”

It didn’t, but Trowa gave the newcomer his attention anyway.

That was pretty much how it went for the rest of the night.  I think.  I mean, it was gettin’ kinda hazy there at the end when my stomach had been filled to bursting and the wine was still a-comin’ and how many fucking fey wanted to kiss up to my husband, anyway?

“Absolutely no kissing,” I may have muttered and I heard Trowa chuckle.  Felt his lips on my neck.  The blood had dried upon his skin and in his hair, but he smelled like my Trowa.  My sunlight and laughing brook and dancing dust motes.  Someone moaned.

Trowa stood and pulled me up from the bench.  My knees sagged and my head lolled against his chest.  Then I was being rolled up into an embrace.  The skin beneath my cheek was a little scratchy – crusty from the dried blood – but I wouldn’t care once I was asleep.

Hmm.  Yeah.  Sleep.  Best idea since… since… hmm.  Sleep…

I rolled over, breathing deeply—and then promptly coughed on a serving of dust.  Blegh.  What the hell?

I blinked open my eyes and squinted, turning toward the nearby glowing light and soft rustle of pages.  Trowa, redressed in his jumpsuit, was looking up at me from the stacks of files spilling over the desktop beneath the single lamp of his workstation.

“Are you all right?” he checked, studying me intently.

I worked my mouth, coughing out another breath as I tried to get my oversized, dry tongue to cooperate.

He collected a thermos from the edge of the desk and moved to sit beside me on the bed.  I pushed myself upright, grunting when I stuck my elbow right in a metal spring.

“Water,” he told me, setting the thermos on the floor and wrapping an arm around me.  He placed the cup in my hands and braced himself against my side to steady me.

I drank.  I sighed.  “Thanks,” I finally managed to say.

He kissed my temple.  “How do you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a frickin’ bus.”

I felt his lips curve into a smile.  “You had a lot of wine.”

“Not enough to work up the nerve to suck you off under the table.”

He snorted.

“I notice you’re not horrified that it occurred to me.”

“I’m not a hypocrite.”

It was my turn to snort.  “You were high as a kite on that magic, babe.”

“Yes.  Thank you for indulging me in front of everyone.”

“Indulging?” I squeaked.  Had I done something I wasn’t remembering?

“Feeding me.”

“Oh.  Yeah.  Well.  I ain’t gonna make a habit of it.  Just so you know.”

His long fingers dug gentle furrows in my hair to massage my scalp.

“Hmm.  That feels nice.  What time is it?”

“Five forty.”

“Five forty… __a.m.?”__

“Yes.”

“Shit, babe.  Come to bed.”  I gulped down the rest of the water and leaned down to screw the metal lid back onto the thermos.

His hand slid down my back.  “I would love to.  Especially if there’s a long, slow kiss and a hard fuck up against the wall included.”

I blinked.  The hand I’d braced on his thigh twitched with the memory.  I had said that, hadn’t I?  My lips stretched into a smile that felt kinda… fey.

“A hero’s reward, huh?  I think you’re a little overdressed for that, babe.”

“Clothes come off,” he assured me and started tugging at snaps.

“They sure do,” I approved, leaning back against the concrete wall and fumbling with the ties on my fey-made clothes.  I watched as Trowa stood and lost the boots and jumpsuit.  Heard the crinkle of plastic as he dug out the bottle of lube and a white undershirt.  I left my jacket thing on and pressed my shoulders back against the wall, mattress springs poking me in my knees, shins, and feet.  I reached for my dick.

“What are you doing?” he asked, leaning forward and bracing himself on the mattress.

“What’s it look like?”  I rolled the bottle of lube out of his grasp and popped open the cap.

His green eyes followed every movement as I slicked my fingers and slid them out of sight and along my cleft.  “Duo—no.  I can’t.”

“I think we’ve established,” I said as I massaged the gel into my muscles, “that I can stop you if you go too far.”

“You should not have to.”

“I want to.”  I met his worried gaze and quirked a brow.  “You want a hero’s reward or not, baby?  Because I am—”  My breathing hitched as I pressed one finger inside.  “—gettin’ ready for you.  And I’ve been looking forward to this for so—” I rocked my hips as I worked to stretch myself enough to allow for two fingers.  “So, so long.”

I let my left hand fall away from my hard cock.  The black fabric of the jacket brushed against the sides of my chest.  My nipples were hard.

“This might take a while,” I warned him as I eyed his hard body, groaning at the sight of his arousal.  Fuck, he was big.

“I can age shift back,” he offered.

I shook my head, sighing out a breath as I managed two fingers.  “Don’t even think it, babe.  You’re gonna hook my legs over your arms and fuck me right here.”

He shuddered.  “Duo.”

“Hmm, yeah.  Say my name like that again.”  All growl and desire and possession.

__“Duo.”_ _

A third finger.  Not exactly comfortable, but I didn’t feel a sting like I had the first time I’d done this.  Maybe I was still a little drunk.  A little numb from the alcohol.  Well, I was pretty fucking sure I’d feel him.  I’d feel all of him.

“C’mere.”

He scooted forward, mesmerized.  I thrust my hips twice more over my fingers and then reached for the lube again.  Slicked my palm and grabbed his cock.  Measured his girth with my grasp.  Oh fuck.  Just… just oh fuck.

I wrapped my left arm around his shoulders and scooched into his lap, lined us up and lowered myself just enough to feel him press and push against me.  I grabbed for the T-shirt and wiped my hand off.  Then I grabbed onto his shoulders.  His cool fingers were gripping my hips, holding me steady as breath after breath boomed out of his broad chest.

“This part’s for me,” I informed him.  “I’ll let you know when it’s your turn.”

He tried to answer me.  His Adam’s apple bobbed twice and he made a clicking sound in his throat like he didn’t have enough spit to form the words.  I grinned, leaned forward and opened my mouth over the bunch of muscles that connected his neck and shoulder.  Bit down.  Just a little.  Slid down on his cock.  Just until the head was inside me and oooh, I felt it.  The burn.  The pressure.  The stretch.

His hands tightened.  His breath hissed.

I wiggled my hips, working to get him all in there.  Every bit of him.  Oh, God.  He was gonna fuck me so deep.  I was gonna feel this all the way up my spine, in my skull, in my eyeballs and molars.

I rolled and rocked my hips, taking him little by little, groaning and panting.  Whining and muttering every obscenity I’d ever heard, “Mother fucking hell you’re hard.  Trowa, baby, sonuvabitch hngh yes!”

My fingers dug into his hair.  I pulled his head back and gave him that long, slow kiss with tongues and wet heat.  Sucked and bit and licked at his mouth until his cock twitched deep inside me, making me sizzle, and—oh God.  He was in.  Completely in.  I slid my tongue alongside his, rolled my hips, marveled that I had him.  All of him.  I was enough.  Really enough.

My back arched.  I felt so full.  Stretched taut.  At my limit.

How far past that could he push me?

It was time to find out.

I opened my eyes and grinned wickedly.  “Your turn, baby.”

His eyes flashed with that strange, fey light and he growled.  Surged forward until my shoulders were pressed against the wall.  His right arm slid under my left knee.  Then his left arm under my right.  His hands grasped my hips once more.

And then his hips thrust forward.

“Fuck!”  It was the only word I could say.  The old mattress squealed and shrieked as his weight shifted, as he surged in and out with enough force to rub my shoulders up and down against the wall.  My arms tightened around his neck.  My back bowed as he fucked hard and deep inside me.  Oh, Jesus.  I’d had no idea my body could feel this, could take this, could become this.  My cock throbbed.  My ass throbbed.  My entire being throbbed with the drumbeat of his strength and power.

“Duo,” he whimpered.

“Oh, oh, fuck.  Fucking.  Me.  Oh!”

He whimpered again.  “I need—I need—!”

“Take wh—what you n—need, baby.”

His arms wrapped around me and I felt him lie back on the bed.  Our eyes met as the new position adjusted things, mashed my cock between our bellies, took my breath away.  His hands cupped my hips almost gently.

“Ride me,” he rasped and my pulse spiked.

I sat up slowly, palming his chest and then tearing at and tossing my jacket away.  He braced his feet flat on the mattress, bending his knees up, and I leaned back until—“Oh, fuck, Trowa!”

I wiggled against the hard flesh pressing against that spot – that fucking spot that made fucking so fucking irresistible.  I rolled my hips and I was done for.  Trowa’s hands ventured up my torso as I undulated my hips, my body bursting with showers of hot sparks with every motion.  “Fuck fuck fuck, Trowa.  Don’t stop.  Don’t stop.”

Oh, God.  I wanted to come so badly, but this feeling—this pleasure-torment-state-of-being—was my whole existence.  I couldn’t give it up.  Never.  Not ever.

Trowa’s hands returned to my hips, held me still, steadied me at the exact angle that made my breath catch, and then he pumped into me.  Hard and fast and fucking the very center of me.  Turning me inside out with need.  Oh, God did I need.  Needed more.  Needed him.

“Trowa!” I gasped.

“Look at me.”

I forced my eyes open, mewled an inarticulate plea for more-more-more-more-more.

“Duo, please,” he breathed.  “Let go.  Let me feel you let go.”

I blindly reached between us, grabbing my aching cock and—

I screamed.  Loudly.  Felt it shred my already dry and abused vocal chords.  I was raw, my every nerve shrieking with release, my body tensing and locking down so hard that I could feel Trowa’s cock swelling, pushing back against me, and then—

We melded.  A single moment as he started to come that merged our flesh together, neither of us harder nor softer than the other.

My hips rocked of their own accord as I pumped the last of my release onto his belly.  He rolled his pelvis, hissing as his own completion was drawn out.

I slumped back against his drawn-up knees and just existed.  Impaled and ass full of his spunk and holy hell I wanted so badly to do it all over again.  His hands chased after mine, skimming along my thighs until our fingers entwined.  He held on tightly.

“Duo?”

I grunted.

“How much pain are you in?  Duo?”

I honestly couldn’t tell.  Now that the rush was fading, I wondered about it, though.  Suspected that his withdrawal was gonna hurt like a sonuvabitch.  “Gimme a minute.”

His hands moved over my hips and around to my ass.  My eyes popped open at the feel of gentle warmth and soothing vitality.  I’d felt this twice before: against my scraped knees years ago and my gashed finger back in June.  Trowa was healing me.  I relaxed into it—didn’t even try to fight it.

“God, I’m so dumb,” I admitted.  Fucking like that when I’d only ever bottomed once before was one of the stupidest things I’d ever done, hands down.  How had I talked Trowa into this in the first place?

Trowa sighed, his eyes sliding shut.  “You could convince me to do anything,” he confessed and I realized I must have said that last part aloud.

“Hey.  I’m not blaming you.  I mean, OK, that was hot and fucking awesome and you can totally take credit for that—”

“As well as hurting you.”

“Hey, I’m fine—”

“You were bleeding.  I could smell it.”

Oh.  Well.  Damn.  “Then how come I liked it so much?”

Trowa’s right hand lifted from my hip and he reached up to tuck my hair back in place.  “You are of magic.  It’s easy to get caught up in it.  Lose control.”

“Whoa, like, I just went feral or something?”

“No, not feral.  But it was something.”

I snorted out a laugh.  He caressed my skin and I wiggled, wincing with loss rather than agony as his softened dick slid out.  I grabbed for the T-shirt and tried not to pay too much attention to the stains that were probably never gonna come out.

I wiped us down and Trowa opened his arms.  I lay out on top of him; his body was much more comfortable than the pokey mattress.  His fingertips doodled over my back and I angled my chin so I could study the workstation.

“How long have you been up?” I asked.  “Find anything interesting in those files?”

“Hmm.  My history with Heero Yuy.  That’s a good read.  If you’re interested.”

I grinned.  “Absolutely.  Anything else?”

I pressed my ear to his chest as he gave me the highlights on Sylvia, who had family and friends in various parliaments and congresses throughout Europe.  The Noventas were titled, apparently, and had managed their funds well through the generations.  

And then Tro told me about Hilde, whom he’d found wounded on a battlefield.  She’d used her abilities to make him think he was healing one of his own fighters rather than Septum’s.  Initially, she’d been hoping to take the Silencer down herself and earn a nice, fat bonus from her master, but the simple act of healing her had made her a convert.  She’d joined the resistance and now she was captain of the Las Vegas base.

“She gets mistaken for Elvis fairly regularly when she’s out on the Strip,” Trowa confided with a grin.

“She does not,” I challenged.

He shrugged a shoulder.  “Ask her.  That’s what’s in the file.”

I huffed out a chuckle.

His arms tightened around me and he said somberly, “I’d just finished locating the documents pertaining to Quatre.”

“You want some help?” I offered.

He craned his neck, tilting his head back to check the time.  The clock above the workstation read 6:22.  Still too fucking early to deal with asshole fey but it wasn’t like we had any other plans.

Trowa made no move to shove me off of him.  “Not now.  Sleep now,” he proposed.

“We have time?”

“Yes.  There’s time.”

I closed my eyes.

The sound of a fist pounding on the metal door snapped them open.  A glance showed it to be 8:27.

Tro was already sitting up and easing me off of him.  I helped by picking myself up and groping for his jumpsuit.  “Hey, stud,” I called.  He turned and caught the garment square in the chest.  “Yesterday was the only free show I’m lettin’ you give folks.  Got it?”

His lips quirked.  “Got it.”  He stepped into the pants and tied the sleeves around his waist.

I grabbed a pair of sweat pants and a clean T-shirt from the nearest plastic bag.  Yanked the waistband up and was just tugging the T-shirt hem down as Tro swung the door open.

Hilde leaned over the threshold and peered at us both with irreverent glee.  “Aw, shucks.  I was hoping for more skin.”

“My sense of humor has not changed,” Trowa reminded her flatly and she had the good sense to look chagrined.

“Meeting starts in thirty minutes, General,” she said.  Then, with a wink in my direction, tip-tapped her way down the steps.

Trowa slammed the door shut.

“Meeting, huh?  Guess this means I don’t have time for a shower.”  I eyed what I could see of the bathroom around a precariously stacked column of wooden crates.

“The meeting is for me.  You have plenty of time for a shower.”

“What?  No.  No way.  Tro,” I bleated, “you can’t just ditch me to go off and plot mayhem and shit.”

His lips quirked.  He gave me a hot, greedy kiss as he squeezed past me to use the facilities.  “It’s a briefing.  Hours of updates on enemy forces and locations.  Losses and logistics.  It will bore you.”

It might not be as awful as he was making it out to be, but it sounded like something I wouldn’t be able to contribute to in any meaningful way.  At least not today.

“So, I guess I’ll get started on Quatre’s files?”  A meeting or research: either way, I wouldn’t be wasting my time.

Trowa didn’t bother to shut the bathroom door all the way.  I heard him empty his bladder and the accompanying flush.  Then there was a gurgle from the water tap as he washed up.  Some additional splashing and the rattle of a towel bar.  The door opened and he leaned against the jamb.  I stared at the jumpsuit – he’d retied it low on his hips so he could wash up the bits that had seen action earlier.  Now he was just standing there air-drying.  Damn.

“Sylvia’s coming by to take you to lunch,” he informed me before sticking a toothbrush in his mouth and scrubbing with wince-worthy efficiency.

I sat back down on the bed.  I was in the way just standing here like a doofus.  “What time?”

He reached over and tapped the clock, pointing to the 11 and then drawing a finger straight down to the six.  So, 11:30.

“And when am I gonna see you?”

His eyes narrowed and he jabbed a finger at the five.

“Shit.  All day, huh?”

He ducked back into the bathroom and spat out the toothpaste foam.  “You’ll be busy.”

“With what?”

“Sylvia.”

“Are we gonna be giving each other make-overs for five and a half fucking hours?”

Trowa gurgled, spat again, and then braced himself in the doorway to glare at me.  “Sylvia is important.  We have to work with her.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.  She’s got money, connections, the whole shebang.”

“She’s got Heero Yuy.”

“Yeah.  And?”

“The former leader of the resistance,” he prompted.

I was well aware of this.  “Uh-huh…”

Trowa rolled his eyes.  “You need a cup of that coffee swill,” he muttered.  “Duo, who is the real leader of the resistance?  Is it Heero, the devoted consort, or his companion who is powerful and powerfully motivated, who managed to ingratiate herself with the fey world at the age of fifteen years old?”

“I—whoa.  You’re right.”  Heero might know when to give ground to me and Trowa – hell, he’d backed off quick enough at the New York dell – but I’d bet it was Sylvia who kept the momentum going.

“She has plans for you and I do not know what they are.  I wasn’t interested in hearing them.  You were missing and the last thing I wanted to consider was a scheme that would make you even more exposed.”

At that last word, my gaze darted down to the goods that were on display.  My lips quirked.  He noticed and answered with a smirk.

I countered, “So did you really go all feral during the fight or was it an act?”

The humorous light in his eyes vanished.  “I was feral.”  

Shit.  He really would have killed Yuy and torn out the guy’s spine.  I stood and he shifted closer so I could wrap my arms around him.  

He murmured into my very-needed-to-be-washed hair, “Thank you.  For stopping me.”

“Anytime,” I not-joked.  “You looked smug enough to make me think you’d set it all up, though.”

“Hm.  Afterward—seeing the result—I was pleased that it had worked out so well.  Sylvia owes you.  Use that for leverage.  We need to know what her plans are,” he repeated.  “And we need her to see you as someone we can’t afford to risk.”

“Look, I dunno what kinda shit you used to do when you were on your own, but that’s over and done with, OK?  We can’t afford to risk you, either.”  I glared up at him until he nodded.  We both knew it wasn’t a matter of us being invaluable to the resistance.  They’d carried on without him for years.  And, hell, there’d never been anyone like me involved so if something happened to me it wouldn’t be like I’d set them back a decade or whatever.  The real deal was that I couldn’t risk him and he couldn’t risk me.  That was what it boiled down to.

His hands lifted and framed my face.  “I’ll wash your hair,” he offered.

“You’ll be late,” I warned.

“They won’t start without me.”

He had a point.  And he had amazing hands.  Oh, God, it was bliss standing under the hot water with him as he massaged the shampoo into my hair and against my scalp.  It was a real shame we didn’t have time to get into the hair-drying and braiding stages of things.

“Next time,” I promised him in response to his look of profound regret.

He dressed in a black jumpsuit and his combat boots.  I pulled on my fey-duds and stepped into my shoes.  Then I saw him to the door.

He lifted the photo of the Silencer, Heero, and Cathy.  He scanned his palm and a second later directed me to do the same.  “You’re keyed in now,” he said. “Lock up behind me.”

“I will.”

“Be careful.  Check to make sure it’s actually Sylvia who comes to collect you.”

“Yeah.  OK.  No problem – I’m the king of twenty questions.”

He kissed me.  He whispered how much he loved me.  He caressed my jaw with his knuckles, and then he was out the door.  I watched through the peephole as he stood on the landing and waited for me to wrench the lock.  Only after he heard the heavy clang did he head down the steps and turn right, quickly striding out of my line of sight.

Well.  I guess it was time for me to get ready for work, then.

I didn’t have a lot of experience interrogating people.  Reading between the lines, yeah, I could handle that.  Well, most of the time.  I’d totally missed the obvious there with Sylvia – insert embarrassed tirade here – but I’d sorted out Quatre Winner before we’d hit the dessert course.  Also, I’d dealt with my share of evasive and uncommunicative medical professionals trying to bullshit me with theories and probabilities.  But Sylvia had been in my blind spot.  I was gonna have to watch out for that kinda lapse.  Starting now.

So, how to get the unvarnished truth outta her without, y’know, breaking out the folding chairs and rubber hoses?

I was pretty sure that it was the hospital nurses that I was gonna draw inspiration from.  How many of them had gotten me to open up?  Had gotten me to admit to being scared or angry as one test after another had left me in pain and just as much in dark as I had been before?  Their technique was simple and devastating: show genuine interest.  That was all.  The big secret.  I hoped it worked on more than just frustrated and confused little boys.

“So, Sylvia, is lunch always this exciting?” I asked as I poked at my metal bowl of gruel.  She’d passed my gauntlet of personal questions – things that only she, Heero, Trowa, Solo, and possibly Meiran would have been witness to, things I’d been told secondhand, but still better than asking what her favorite color was.  Now it was time for The Talk.  I’d been waiting until we’d procured a table in the mess hall, which was still a mess.  No one had bothered to clean up the blood yet.  Or maybe they were just gonna immortalize it in varnish or plexiglass or some shit.  Who the hell knew.  I tried not to look at it.

I glanced up and, over Sylvia’s shoulder, I locked gazes with yet another fey.  She looked away first.  Just like all the rest of them had so far today.  It was enough to make me wonder.

“I get that fey are curious but, uh, this seems a little over the top.  Did I do anything last night that I should be apologizing for?”

Sylvia reached over and patted my arm.  “You were perfect.”

Wow.  I couldn’t believe she hadn’t even hesitated.  I’d left the door wiiiiide open for all kinds of mischief, but she hadn’t even skipped a beat.  Either she was immune to the temptation of cheap thrills or she really was all sweetness-and-light.  I was betting on the former.

She continued, “You performed your duties as Trowa’s companion to the letter.”

“Whoa.  Hold up.  Break it down for me, here.  I have actual duties?  Like, official duties?”

“Of course!  Didn’t Trowa—no, I can see that he didn’t.  Well, most of them would only be possible in the fey realm, so that might be why he’s never mentioned it.”

“Right.”  Because Trowa was still banished.

She broke it down for me: “Yesterday evening, your consort challenged another fey and won.  As his companion, you tended to his hunger and thirst so that he could display his hands.”

“In all their gory glory.  OK.  I remember that part.”

“You also provided him with an occasional break from well-wishers and sycophants.”  She added, “With you there, they wouldn’t dare try to monopolize your consort’s attention.”

“Still.  I was surprised they didn’t just form a line,” I muttered.

She chuckled.  “Yes, well, fey don’t conform well.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“And then you drank enough to allow Trowa to excuse himself for the night.”

“Absolutely.  I wasn’t drunk outta my mind at all.”

She chuckled.  “Sell it to someone who’s not human, Duo.”

“Yeah, yeah.  Any other duties I should know about?”

“Yours or Trowa’s?”

“Trowa’s duties to the resistance, you mean?” I checked, confused.

“No, to you.”

“I… what?”

“As your consort, there are several things Trowa is responsible for.  He protects you from harm.  He cannot betray your confidence.  He must provide you with a declaration—”

“So that wasn’t, uh, optional?  The declaration?”

“Not according to fey tradition.  Any fey who doesn’t take care of their companion is looked down on.  In performing it, Trowa was doing right by you.  Actually, everyone’s still wondering how you both managed it given his banishment.”

“Ah, so I’m not just getting looks because of my fashion sense, badass life partner, and sizzling hot handshake.”

“Well, not only because of those things, no.”  Sylvia gave me a companionable smirk.

I smirked back.  “Good to know.”  And then a thought occurred to me that was very un-smirky.  “What does he owe the fey who offered him wine?”

“Nothing special just because of that.  They might approach him later to discuss terms for favors.”

Damnit.  Everyone wanted a piece of him here.  I was starting to get why he’d tried to persuade me to run away with him.  “I hate this,” I mumbled.

“Duo, he has to.  A fey who has no favors to call upon is the worst sort of consort.  Criminally irresponsible.  Trowa can’t protect you by himself indefinitely.”

I sighed noisily.  “He shouldn’t have to ‘protect me’ at all.”

“Perhaps he won’t, but this is how it works and how it looks to the fey.  I’m not going to tell you that it gets easier, because even after fifteen years with Heero, it’s not a walk in the park.  But it helps to understand their system of values.”

“I’ll have to take your word on that.  Early days yet for me and Tro.”

“You’re both so young, but Trowa does try to be a good consort.”  She smiled sadly at her barely-touched serving.  “It was very hard for Heero to wait until I turned eighteen to perform the declaration.  A lot of his supposed allies went out of their way to make things difficult for him.  But not the Silencer.  He understood.”

That was enlightening.  No wonder Sylvia and Heero both respected my consort as much as they did.

“Are there any other duties?” I asked after daring a bite of mystery porridge.  “For either him or me?”

“It’s up to him to make sure you don’t find any trouble.  It would be extremely awkward if you ended up owing another fey a favor.”

“Huh.  I guess making friends is outta the question.”

“Fey don’t make friends.  Even among their own kind.”

“But he and Heero seem, uh…”

“They do.  Maybe they even are.  But don’t tell them that.  As far as I know, the only friend a fey can truly have is his or her companion.”

Really?  So Trowa and Solo were—what?  Did Trowa just tolerate my brother for my sake?  That couldn’t be it, not with how disappointed Trowa had been when his attempt to help Solo let off steam had so totally backfired.  Could it?  “Isn’t there an equivalent – a consort-companion equivalent – for two fey?”

She nodded slowly.  “Master and slave.”

“Harsh.”

Sylvia agreed.  “You can see why going to the human world holds such appeal.”

“Yeah, but...  Don’t they want some kind of connection with their own kind?”

She blew out a heavy breath.  “It’s my theory that friendships sour after a couple of centuries.  Favors are less volatile.”

“Huh.  So what exactly is the resistance fighting for then?”

“The privilege to mingle with the human world for one thing.  Dell masters tightly control who is allowed to come and go.  The only reason Trowa was so quickly granted permission was probably because they wanted him to be there.”

“Some privilege.  Thank God he escaped.”

She paused, laden spoon nearly to her lips.  “Duo.  Do you know what happens to fey who are recaptured by a master?”

“Uh… no.  Do I want to?”

“Probably not.”

Fuck.  I swallowed thickly.  “Trowa said once that he’d thought the masters wanted to make an example of him.”

Sylvia gaped.  “Your consort is very brave.  Either that or he is genuinely ambivalent to his own safety.”

Jesus. I was kinda thinking that the second option was the more likely.  Especially given what he’d done just to get a meeting with the dell masters in the first place.  But this wasn’t exactly something I could discuss with Trowa.  Or, more accurately, it wasn’t something I wanted to put him through just for the sake of my curiosity.  Good thing Sylvia was here and handy with fey things.  “Um, what’s sex like between fey?”

Sylvia blinked but answered matter-of-factly, “Vicious.  There’s no counter-balance for their feral nature, which a human companion provides.  They’ll tear each other to pieces if one doesn’t submit to the other.  And even then, I’ve seen the aftermath.”

“Scars?” I guessed.

“If they’re lucky.”

So if an older and more experienced fey had an axe to grind with a young, innocent, newly-summoned fey… Holy hell.  Given what I’d seen at the fight last night, only a healer – only Trowa – could have survived that level of savagery.  

I stared down at my unidentifiable lunch.  “Why is their world so bloodthirsty?”

“When life is measured in centuries, if not millennia, what’s the point of forgiveness or leniency?”

“See, I think you could easily argue the opposite, there.”

“The fey don’t see it that way.”

“You don’t honestly believe that.”

“I believe,” she responded with earnest fervor, “that the fey are ready for a new order, but their fundamental nature isn’t going to change.  They need a system that allows them freedoms yet protects humans.  We need a strong leader who will inspire obedience, not force it upon them like the masters do for their own personal gain.”

“And that’s what the deal is with the resistance now?”

“The resistance,” Sylvia said, “is a bit of misnomer.  Yes, everyone here is resisting the old ways by following the Silencer.  But each resists in their own way.”

Whoa.  Hold up.  “So, if Trowa’s not actually ordering people around, then he isn’t responsible for every single fey who was crammed in here yesterday?”

“Trowa’s duties depend on his arrangement with each individual fey under his command.  He does – or, used to do – things differently here than in the dells.  In the dells, a fey is forced to repay the generosity of the master who performed their summoning with unquestioning and absolute obedience.  Indefinitely.  Or risk terrible punishments.”

Yeah, Trowa and I were familiar with some of those.

Sylvia gave me a sympathetic look.  “The Silencer demanded nothing of his people.  They offer and he accepts.”

I supplied, “Knowing that he’ll help them out if and when they need it.”

She nodded.  “I’d never known the Silencer to be… friendly,” she diplomatically informed me.  “In fact, before last night, I don’t think I’d even seen him smile.  And I’ve definitely never heard him laugh.  But he was fair.  Even by human standards.  I can’t name another fey leader who is or ever was.”

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely,” I observed.

“Which is why we need you.”

“Me?” I coughed.  “Sylvia, I still don’t know my ass from my elbow.”

Her lips twitched.  “You are the Sicarian.  Your consort is the Silencer.  It’s going to fall to the two of you to maintain order once the masters have been deposed.”

“And just how are we gonna do that without turning into even bigger jackasses than the jerks who run the show now?”

“You won’t.  That won’t happen to either of you.  The fey need you, Duo.  Only you can control the masters.  You’re more than halfway there already.  The rumors of Treize’s death – and the death of Zechs, Une, Septum, Dermail, and Tsuberov – the masters are scared.  They’re trying to stop word from reaching their servants, but it’s only a matter of time.  We need you ready because the revolution is coming.”

Septum, Dermail, Tsuberov – I hadn’t even known or asked what their names had been.  What the fuck kind of person was I to not even __ask?__   Luckily, I had something else to bitch about: “Jesus fried a fucking chicken, Sylvia.  No pressure, huh?”

“I’m sorry.”

Maybe she was and maybe she wasn’t.  She’d had fifteen years of being a fey’s companion.  Manipulating me would be child’s play for her.

Well, why stop her now?  She was on a roll an’ all.  I gestured for her to continue.  “Well, don’t leave me hanging.  Fill me in on the details.”

There were a lot of details.  But, basically, Solo was gonna be our connection to the clans, and Trowa was the connection to the fey with me – supposedly with my hand on the collective leash of the masters – in the middle.  A trifecta that was gonna stop the needless deaths of fey and therefore the demand for human sacrifices.

“So, what do you think?” she finally asked, bracing herself for my verdict.  “Will you help us change the world?”

I scraped the gritty, dried crumbs of my lunch around in the metal bowl.  “I’ve seen fey heads archived like some kind of circus sideshow attraction,” I said quietly.  “I’ve watched my husband get carved up just for choosing me over his masters.  I’ve listened to humans being butchered at fey banquets.”  I looked into Sylvia’s eyes.  “There’s so much I wanna change – all this… this… brutality – but they’re fey.  Centuries, hell, __millennia__  haven’t made them any less wild.  Sylvia, what makes you think they want me and my brother – a couple of humans – to have any part in this?”

She folded her hands together and countered earnestly, “Do you know what an honor it is for a fey to be allowed to choose a companion?”

I had to admit, “I’ve heard that said.”

“Duo, they’re not just choosing one of us.  They’re choosing a new way of life.  They’re choosing to rebel against the vows that turn them into property.  Into slaves.”

“I don’t disagree.”

“Then what are you objecting to?”

I shrugged.  “I’m not one-hundred percent sure yet.”

And I had to leave it at that.  There was something we were missing.  Fey were escaping – __escaping__   _ _like refugees__  – to the human world so… didn’t that mean there was something wrong with the fey world?  And if there was, shouldn’t we fix that first?  Things hadn’t always been this way, had they?

But I knew that if I shared my thoughts now – half-formed as they were and unsupported by research – Sylvia would shoot me down and I wasn’t ready for that.  I wasn’t ready for the woman who’d been guiding the resistance for the past twelve years or whatever to try lassoing me into her corral.  As long as I didn’t give her anything to work with, she couldn’t formulate a strategy.

God.  I was thinking like a fey.

I couldn’t decide if I was proud of that or flat-out disturbed.

I withheld judgement as Sylvia gave me a tour of the underground base.  It was the Silencer’s, she told me.  A decommissioned military research facility that he’d appropriated all the paperwork on during his stint in the U.S. Army back in the wake of World War I.  Holy hell.  My husband had __stolen__  an entire military base.  That had to be some kind of record.  Or something.

I was still having a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that Trowa – the brave and determined teenager who was unsure of so much, who needed me so much – had outlived entire civilizations.  I just… couldn’t.  Nope.  Not comprehending that at all.

It was a relief when Sylvia brought me back to familiar territory.  I waved goodbye and ducked into the Silencer’s old room – scanning my palm under the photo of him, Cathy, and Heero – at a quarter to four.  Plenty of time to look over some of the files Trowa had pulled out.

I intended to read through his entries on Heero, but the first file cover I opened revealed the name “Quatre Winner” and, let’s be real, there was no way I was gonna set that aside.

Not everything was written in English, though.  And even the bits that were sounded so damned antiquated that it was like trying to get through Shakespeare… whose works I’d actually kinda liked back in school.  So it shouldn’t have been this hard for me to get into Trowa’s narrative, but it sure as hell was.  I waded through passages about various times their paths had crossed, getting more and more irritated with myself for having to stop, close my eyes, and visualize the scene before it slipped from my short-term memory.  I skipped over pages that looked to be written in Russian and maybe Arabic – Jesus, how many languages had Trowa, er, the Silencer known?

And then I hit a brick wall.  Smacked into it.  And fuck did it smart.  I read one short line and I hit critical mass.  A single line and I was done for.

I pushed myself away from the desk, but I had nowhere to go.  I stomped over to the closet, but Trowa’s additional three jumpsuits, two garment bags containing God knows what, and shelf of neatly folded underwear and socks did nothing to distract me from what I’d just read.

And wished to hell I could forget.

My hands curled into fists.  The skin at the nape of my neck tightened until my hair, if it had been short, would have been standing on end.  I’d felt this particular sensation before—recognized it.  I rushed past the workstation and lunged into the bathroom.  The mirror above the sink was just a twist-to-the-right away and—holy shit.

I was looking at the Sicarian.  I was seeing what Chang had seen at Treize’s little imitation Medieval mountain stronghold.  I was seeing what Trowa and Master O had seen the day I’d watched my husband meet total destruction head-on.

My eyes gleamed silver.  I could almost believe the harsh overhead light was reflecting or refracting off of my retinas – like the flash of watchful animal eyes in the dark – but I knew that wasn’t what this was.  My hands curled around the edge of the sink.  My shoulders hunched.  I thought of that line again, the words recorded by my husband’s hand before he’d been my husband, before I’d even been born, before __my parents__  had even been born, and—

__He’s mine.  MINE._ _

My pupils disappeared completely.  Silver flashed over my irises and across the whites of my eyes.

I barely registered my clenched jaw and fierce scowl.  I blew out each hot, heavy breath through my nose as my heart pounded hard and slow, deep in my chest.

I wanted to tear this fucking sink right outta the wall.  Wanted to pull the walls down.  Wanted to snap necks and rip open bellies.

“Stop,” I mouthed, lowering my head and rocking back on my heels.  The motion stretched my arms out straight, pulling a little of the tension out of my shoulders.  I rocked forward again and then back.  Over and over.  “Stop stop stop stop—”

I hadn’t checked the clock since I’d walked in the door, so I had no idea how long it took for me to calm down, to empty my mind of all but the simple intent to breathe in and out, but I did it.  When I tilted my chin up, my eyes were mine again.  Blue irises, black pupils, slightly reddened whites that would appreciate a little more quality sleep tonight.

With a grin, I turned away.  Ignored the workstation completely.  It wasn’t there.  I couldn’t see it.  Wouldn’t see it.  La la-la la, just a-Smurfing along.

I headed for the photos that papered the walls around the door and scanned the ones I hadn’t had a chance to take a good look at yet.  Unsurprisingly, most of the faces were unfamiliar, but some rang a bell—maybe because I’d seen them last night or earlier today.  The Silencer remained as ever unsmiling, again and again and again.

I wondered… how long it would take me to get him to crack a smile when he got back?  Hm.  That sounded like a fun challenge.

And, as it just so happened, that was when I heard the sound of boot tread on the lowest step outside the door.  I grabbed for the round wheel-lock mechanism and peered through the peephole.

Trowa was back.  And he looked exhausted, pissed off, and in need of a warm welcome.

I yanked open the door and glomped him.

“Hey, babe!” I greeted, hugging his neck and shoulders tightly as my toes wobbled on the step.  Damn, he was tall.

“Duo—”

I shut him up with a kiss.  A long one.  His hands found their way to my ass and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he picked me up.  Three steps, a metal screech, and a thud later, Trowa was pressing me back against the closed door.

He tore his mouth away from mine.  “Duo!  What are you doing?”

I quirked a brow.  “D’you really want me to answer that?”

His jaw clenched.  His hands gripped my shoulders and shook me gently.  “There are blind spots in the corridor.  What if it hadn’t been just me?  What if it hadn’t been safe?”

I snorted.  “Then you would have broken their fucking necks before you even started up the steps.”

“Duo, you can’t—”

“Jesus fucking damn it all to hell, Trowa!  Just shut up!”  My hands slashed through the air in the classic back-off gesture.

Trowa gasped.  Staggered backward.  Crashed into a pile of crates.  He reached for the side of his face and I blinked through my rage to see dark green blood welling from between his fingers.

“Oh God.”  My first instinct was to go to him, but I forced myself to tuck my hands - bare right and gloved left - under my armpits.  I slumped back against the door and slid down until my ass hit the concrete.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t know what just happened.  I—I’m so sorry.”

I hadn’t even touched him and I’d hurt him.  Cut him.  He pulled himself upright and headed for the bathroom with silent steps.  I squeezed my eyes shut.  I was so tempted to get the hell outta here – to run and hide in one of the hangar bays Sylvia had shown me—

__“Don’t leave me again.”_ _

—but I couldn’t do that to him.  I couldn’t make him chase me down, and I knew he would.  It took all of my strength and then some to strangle the urge into submission.

“I’m sorry—”  It was all I could say – the only words I could force out through my tight, aching throat, over my thick, slimy tongue, and past my dry lips.  “So sorry so sorry so sorry—”

I didn’t hear him return, but I felt his cool fingers wrap around my wrists and pull my clenched fists away from my chest.  “It’s all right.  Look at me, Duo.  I’m all right.”

My breath hitched as I inhaled and looked up.  There was a pale green line at his temple.  The blood was gone, but—

“It scarred.”  There were no words for my horror.

“I’m fine.”

“I didn’t even touch you!” I squeaked, my voice gone high-pitched and breathless with terror.  “What the actual—how the hell—oh my God.”

He tugged on my arms, but I pressed myself back against the door, bracing with my feet against the concrete.  He frowned.  “Duo, come here.”

I shook my head.

“You have it under control now.  It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine!  I thought I had it under control earlier!”  But then one comment from Trowa – one fucking thing – had set me off.  “You’re not safe around me.”

“Why?”

“Why?” I echoed aghast.

He elaborated calmly, “What happened earlier?”

“Let go of my hands.  Please.  I—I can’t let myself think about it if you’re touching me.”

He let me go.

I told him, “I’m pretty sure you fucked Quatre.”

He froze.  The standard fey response to something surprising or shocking.  “No,” he replied.

“It’s on the desk.”

He studied me for a moment.  His hand reached for me, stopped, and fisted.  Then he stood and headed for the workstation.  I didn’t even hear him sit down and after only thirty seconds the utter silence was tearing me apart.  I pulled myself to my feet and crept forward to peer around the crate towers.  He was still standing, leaning forward with both hands braced upon the desktop.  Reading.  Just reading.  He didn’t tense, didn’t fidget.  He just… read.

And then he let out a long breath.  “Duo,” he murmured gently.  He straightened and looked back at me, unsurprised to find me lurking.  He extended his hand toward me.  “Come here.  Please.”

I moved forward warily.  The only reason I moved at all was the quiet confidence that radiated from him.  He’d learned something that would fix this.  I knew it.  He wouldn’t just let me hurt him again if it were true.  If he’d really—

__Stop._ _

I paused.  Took a deep breath.  Let it out.  Then I opened my eyes and took his hand.  He sat and pulled me onto his lap, wrapped his long arms around me, and said, “We did not fornicate, Duo.”

“How—how can you be sure?”

He read the very line that had nearly destroyed my sanity, “’As our journey could not be completed before nightfall and it would be too bothersome to risk crossing paths with brigands, Quatre suggested a brief sojourn at an inn where we might disrobe and enjoy a brief respite together.’”

That was as far as I’d gotten.  I focused on keeping calm as I waited for the punchline.

He continued, “’Quatre offered me the use of his person for my satisfaction, and I replied that I would accept only if he submitted to me completely.  He withdrew the proposal forthwith and we shared the bed without incident.’”

He gave me a moment to absorb that before explaining, “Complete submission includes truth.”

And I knew what that meant to a fey.  Only a fey’s companion was entrusted with something so precious.  It had been one of the vows Trowa had made to me when we’d unintentionally completed our declaration.

I felt like a moron.  “I’m sorry,” I said again.  I should have kept reading.  Should have seen the sequence of events through to their conclusion only… if things had gone another way, I wasn’t sure I’d have been able to take it.

“Duo,” he began, his hands moving over my back, “it is I who am sorry.  The way this was written—how it must sound to you—I—the date of this entry is—”

“1777, yeah, I know.  English was a little different back then.”

He let out a breath in relief.  “And human clothing was much less comfortable.  We’d been travelling under disguise in the middle of winter – getting out of those clothes would have been very welcome.  And we were in a hurry to reach our objective, so we wouldn’t have burdened ourselves with the weight of additional clothing in our packs.”

I concluded flatly, “So, two dudes sleeping buck naked in a hotel bed was just…”

“The way it was.”  He pulled me closer.  “Quatre Winner’s offer—he was testing me.”

“With sex?” I sputtered.  “Sounded like he was willing to let you do anything you wanted.”

“And if I had accepted, he would have learned far too much about me in return.  But to decline straightforwardly would reveal weakness.  Fear.”

I blew out a sigh.  “So you turned the tables on him.”  Demanded something in return that no sane fey would agree to: the unvarnished and unlimited truth.  Of course it made sense now.  Spoken aloud in his voice, it made all kinds of sense.  “It was all a game.”

“Yes.”

I didn’t know what else to say.  “I’m sorry for being such a dumb idiot.  I promise I’m smarter than this, Tro.”  Hell, my high school GPA was evidence of my academic prowess.  For years, the only thing I’d had enough energy to be any good at was deciphering textbooks.  “I just… I don’t know why I wasn’t.”

“I may.”  His unhappy reply captured my undivided attention.  “The human mind isn’t meant to merge with magic.  Outside of conscious manipulation, magic maintains all things in stasis.”

He’d told me pretty much the same thing the day before, but I hadn’t thought the same principle that was gonna keep me eighteen years old until I bought the farm was also— “Including my brain, which can’t learn new shit anymore?”

“You can and you will, but not the same way you used to.”  He bowed his head.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t know.  Sylvia told us – Solo and I – when you were missing.  I was hoping that due to the healing magic you’d held for so many years that it would be different for you.”

I was too shocked to get angry.  “It’s a wonder Solo didn’t kick your ass right then and there.”

“As I said, I owe him one.”

Fucking hell.

“Duo, I will do whatever I have to in order to help you overcome this.”

This.  A learning disability.  I just.  God, not now.  Not when I was staring at the pale green line of the scar on Trowa’s right temple.

“Do you know what brings the Sicarian out?” I asked him.

He looked into my eyes and shook his head.

“One thought.  One word.”  I shared it with him on a soft whisper, “Mine.  You’re mine.  No one is allowed to touch you or hurt you because you’re mine.”

He blinked.

I tried to smile, but it just wasn’t happening.  “It doesn’t respond to anger or fear.  Possession,” I breathed, “is how I just hurt you.”  I brushed my fingertips along his temple.  “I am so, so sorry.”

In exchange, he bared his own truth: “I did not mean to chastise you for welcoming me.  I was startled and frightened.”

“And all I heard was you pushing me away.”

“Duo, I would never—could never.  I am yours.”

And I was his.

Now seemed like a pretty good time for a do-over.  “So, how was your day?”

His face relaxed and it was such a fucking relief.  “Long,” he admitted.  “I was tested in just about every way a fey can be tested shy of actual combat and—”  His mouth quirked into a wry smile.  “I was very much looking forward to warm welcome.”

Which I’d rather enthusiastically smacked him with and which he’d promptly yelled at me for.  Jesus, we were both complete headcases.  I grinned and tunneled my fingers into his hair, tugging his bangs to the side so I could lean in and give him a slow, gentle kiss.

“Welcome back,” I murmured.  There was so much I wanted to know from his meeting from hell and I had a lot to tell him from my lunch date with Sylvia, but as his mouth slanted hungrily over mine, I figured it could wait.

Finding out who I was gonna have to threaten in order to get a decent mattress, though, that was a priority.  That I would see to.  Just as soon as we were done with each other.  Well, done for now, anyway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so, what do you think of the fey NOW? (^_^)
> 
> Again, let me just say that zero research happened with regards to fey things. Z E R O.


	3. Darlian’s Daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duo POV
> 
> Theme music: “Roads Untraveled” by Linkin Park

“What’s a charisma?” I asked Trowa as we shared opposing center seats at a long, empty table.  It was kinda irritating being back here in the mess hall again – I surely did not need a rerun of the gory bits on the floor or additional shifty gazes of not-so-furtive watchers to resist chasing after – but Trowa had promised me a date after dinner.  We’d be able to talk about the heavy shit then.  In the meantime...  

“A charisma,” he replied quietly, “was what both Quatre and I were pursuing in the entry you read.”  

“Yeah, I know.  But what is it and how come you were both after it?”  

Trowa dragged a corner of flatbread through his serving of some kind of stew.  His lack of enthusiasm for it was understandable; I knew he preferred fresh-to-the-point-of-raw food.  If the banquet the night before was any indication, most fey shared his tastes.  Living in resistance HQ was clearly rough in more ways than one.  The fact that there were so many fey here – putting up with clearly unpalatable sustenance – was a testament to the depth of their devotion to independence from the masters.  

“A charisma is created,” Trowa explained quietly, “if a human woman is pregnant at the time of her declaration with a fey.  The magic usually destroys the child.  Before it’s even born.”  

“A miscarriage,” I summed up grimly.

“But very rarely, the child survives.  If it does, it’s born magical.  A human with great powers of persuasion.”

“I guess I can see how one of them might be useful.”

“Or a threat.”

Very true.  “So, who was it you guys were chasing after?”  I was pretty sure he’d finished reading the whole entry before daring to promise me that what I’d thought had happened between him and Quatre actually hadn’t.

“An American army general,” he replied.

I recalled the date of the entry.  “Whoa.  During the War of Independence, huh?  So you caught up with the charisma and what happened?” I prompted before taking a bite of tasteless stew.

“I joined the troops that served under him so I could better observe him.”

I could tell that he didn’t think the encounter was all that interesting, so I snuck a booted foot between his as a reward – or incentive, more like – for indulging me.  “And our friend Quatre?”

Trowa gulped down a spoonful of his own dried-and-reconstituted sludge with a wince before continuing the tale.  “Apparently, Quatre appeared to the general in private, but was unable to persuade the man to abandon his campaign.”

“Uh-huh.  And this was a winter-time visit?” I checked, certain aspects of this story beginning to ring a very large bell.

Trowa blinked.  “Yes.  You know something about this?”

“I—what was the name of the guy you thought might be a charisma?”

“Duo, it was nearly two and a half centuries ago.”

“Humor me.  It’ll bug me until we get back to the room.”  Where I was gonna check for myself if he really didn’t wanna tell me.

He heaved a bored sigh.  “George Washington.”

Holy hell.  My hunch had been right.  The old story about General George Washington receiving a divine visit in the middle of the night during the worst winter in recorded U.S. history could be explained in a word: Quatre.

Something in my expression must have clued Trowa in to the fact that he’d missed something because he asked, “Who was he?”

“Oh, only the first president of the United States of America.”

The flatbread in Trowa’s grasp drooped into his stew.  “So he was a charisma after all.”

“Eh?  How d’ya figure that?”

“All charismas crave power.”

“Well… the way history tells it, the founding fathers had to tie his ass in a chair and build the office around him.”

“Hm.  If he was a charisma, then he was very adept at controlling it.”

“I’m sensing that the point of that entry wasn’t so much the charisma but the fact that you and Quatre had a truce of some kind going on.”

He frowned darkly, “Which is now over.”

Yeah.  Obviously.  “Life lesson,” I remarked, glancing around and wondering how many of the fey in this place we’d one day have to fight.  The scary thing was that I could take out any one of them.  Of course the whole obliteration of a person’s soul was enough to freak me out, but there was more to it than that: as I’d told Chang, I was nobody’s weapon and I wasn’t gonna use my powers in response to every obstacle that came our way.  Though, at this point, I didn’t have much more besides the Sicarian in my arsenal.  I could intimidate or I could obliterate.

I rocked my foot back and forth between Tro’s boots until he stared at me.

“Charismas have a thing for power?” I checked.

“Yes.”

“How about us?” I asked with genuine concern.  “Because that’s where Sylvia wants you, me, and Solo.”

Trowa’s eyes narrowed.  He didn’t ask for details, of course.  Given where we were, he couldn’t.  “Tell me during our date,” he invited, dropping his spoon with a clatter and reaching across the table to take my gloved hand in his.  This was the very gesture that I hadn’t dared in the restaurant the day before.

A sad, little smile tugged at my mouth.  “Y’know, dates are supposed to be fun.  Not, uh, debriefings.”

“Or ultimatums?”

“Huh?  Oh.  Yeah.  Shit.”  He was talking about yesterday.  “That wasn’t a very fun date.”  Now that I thought about it… “Our last actual date might have been the last day in Boston.  When you came to the café.  We hit all the highlights – food, drink, talk.”

“A kiss.”

I grinned down at our clasped hands.  “Yeah.  Total date.”

His thumb brushed over my knuckles and I marveled that he was OK with displays of affection here among dozens – hundreds – of fey that revered him as the greatest military leader their kind had ever known.

I cleared my throat.  “So, fey don’t care about two guys pairing up?  Male companion and male consort?”

“No.  Most joined couples are the same gender.”

“Really?”

He nodded.  “There’s a sense of equality, perhaps.”

“So Sylvia and Heero…?”

Trowa shrugged, “I don’t know of any other male-female pairs.  Certainly, they are out there.  I may have met them before.”

Right.  In his other life.  I focused on the slow seduction he was waging upon my hand.  “I could get used to this.  The openness, I mean.”  I gave him a smile that felt shy to me.

In reply, his forefinger doodled wandering circles over my covered skin, reminding me of earlier when his fingers had delved into my hair, massaging my scalp as I’d licked his cock.  My pulse sped up at the memory of his helpless pleas and whimpers.  It was such a mind fuck: my husband, who looked like a grown man – a fucking demigod if you wanna get specific – but had actually been “born” no more than thirteen years ago, loved it when I took the helm in our bed and brought him off with my so-not-impressive human body.  I had a long time to get over that – forever, maybe – but if I ever did, I’d know that I’d lost something.  Some wonder or awe that I might never get back.  

“We can stay here as long as you like,” he told me, clearly speaking of a time, distant or not, in the future when our issues with Quatre Winner were settled.

But I took him literally and teased, “Hey—what about our date?”

His smile was sudden and I fell for it like sack of potatoes: all eyes and no brain activity, but plenty of potential for conducting an electric charge.

He murmured, “You know what I meant.”

I didn’t deny it.  I loved teasing him.  Loved that he got it.  He got me.

“So, when’s the next meeting?”

“Tonight,” he answered.  “Ten p.m.”

“Huh.  After all the kiddies have gone to bed, huh?” I said instead of complaining about the time limit this put on our date.  Of course, most dates were over by ten p.m.  Well, OK, most high school dates.  Which I guess I didn’t qualify for anymore.  Ah, fuck it.  Whatever.

“Kids?  Children?  What children?”  Trowa frowned, tilting his head to one side.  A clear indication that he had no idea what I was talking about.

“Well, kids are in bed by nine, usually, but uh…”  I glanced around.  “No kids.”

“Of course not.”

“How come?”

“It would not be feasible to age shift down in a military environment.  Besides, few fey who are interested in opposing the masters would do so in the form of a child.”

“Yeah, yeah.  I mean, I get that it’s not exactly a good idea for fey to take their Cute into battle, but how come there aren’t any actual half-human, half-fey children here?  Is this the front lines or something?”

“Is this—no.  It’s nothing to do with fighting.  Fey are sterile.”

I blinked.  Processed.  Failed.

__Sterile._ _

I swallowed, my guts clenching.  “Hasn’t there ever been a, y’know, human-fey child?” I ventured.

“No.”

Oh, God.  Ouch.  Just… just __ouch.__   “But… what if a fey wants to raise a child, have a family—”

“Duo.  Most fey are only given a year and a day to locate a companion.  They’re restricted to the area near the dell entrance.  It’s doubtful they’d see many families in a place that isolated.  Only fey who have lived among humans could possibly understand what a family is.”

“But…”  I had no idea what I was intending to say.  Maybe all I wanted was to expel the sudden, hard knot of shock and denial from my gut.  Still, there had to be some fey who immersed themselves in the human world!  “The fugitives… like that Doktor S guy…”

Trowa gave me a long look.  “Those who have escaped their masters are hunted.  What would desperate nomads know about family?”

“Um.  Right.”

And they had no idea of what they were missing because all fey were sterile.

 _ _Sterile.__   Jesus, I just couldn’t get that word outta my head.  Couldn’t shake off the casual way he’d said it.  As if it wasn’t important.  As if it changed nothing in his life.  As if he didn’t even care.

The silence stretched between us, twanged like a taut rubber band.

I needed to stop thinking about this, about a green-eyed little boy with his father’s shy smile and none of his scars.  It was never gonna happen.  Not even with the aid of modern technology and a surrogate.  I grabbed onto the first tangent thought that popped into my head.  “You find anything in your files that says you had a companion before?”

“No.”

“Well, what if you did?”

“That human would likely be dead.  A normal companion remains unchanged only as long as their consort connects them to the magic.  If the fey dies, the connection is broken and the human starts aging again.”

“But, you were, um, alive – living as the Silencer – up until about thirteen years ago or something.  So, it’s possible your former companion would still be alive, right?”

He regarded me steadily.

I stared at him.

His fingers tightened around my hand.  “If,” he allowed with extreme reluctance, “I found information about a former companion, should tell you?”

Good point.  My gaze slid toward his temple and his newest scar.  I still couldn’t believe I had done that.  From a distance.  With a mere gesture of my hand.  “Uh, maybe not.  Forget I asked.”

“Duo.  I am yours until the end of days.  No one else’s.”

I accepted what he was offering with a nod.  “Yeah.  I know, babe.”  I watched his thumb brush back and forth over the base of my ring finger, nudging the wedding band beneath the cloth.  Suddenly, I just really wanted to be away from all of this – the clatters and murmurs and stares.  “Can we go?”

Trowa stood without a word and rounded the table to reach my side.  He made no effort to make eye contact with anyone in the room as we rinsed off our trays and made our escape.  Just passing into one of the quieter corridors was enough to make me feel nine thousand times better.

Trowa didn’t sling a proprietary arm over my shoulders like he had yesterday evening.  Instead, his hand traveled down my side, settling on my hip where his fingers rubbed over my fey-made clothes.  I kept my arm around his waist, wishing the trouser half of his jumpsuit had a convenient back pocket so my palm could ride the curve of his ass all the way to wherever we were going.

…which turned out to be one of the hangars Sylvia had shown me earlier.  He steered me away from the vast concrete nothingness and dusty machinery and up a flight of stairs that were as exposed and rusty as the ones ringing the mess hall.  We clattered up to the catwalk and stomped our way to a narrow but otherwise unremarkable door.  Trowa shouldered it open and we squeezed over the threshold.  

I didn’t comment on this or his, uh, minimalist interpretation of a date, and it was a good thing I kept my mouth shut because I looked up and—  

—oh my God.  

Wall-to-wall uninterrupted glass.  Water fell and sheeted some dozen yards beyond it as bronze-tinted sunlight filtered through, casting ever-changing patterns over the entire space.  I heard the door close behind us.  Trowa waited at my side until I ventured closer to the window, answering the mesmerizing movement of the falls.  Seeking out the whisper of its roar.  I could barely hear it.  

“Wow,” I breathed.  

Trowa snuggled up behind me, his hands on my hips.  “You like the view.”  

It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway.  

“What is this room?” I breathed.  

“Launch control.”  

I followed the sweeping, shimmering refracted light over the ceiling, turning and finally taking in the presence of workstations in the room.    “This doesn’t look like it’s from World War I,” I observed, noticing the bundled cables and flat screen monitors.  

“Heero updated it himself.”  

“For what?”  

“Launching ships from the pool below.”  He pointed down and I felt my eyes go wide.  

“Seriously?  Like, a submarine or something?”  

He nodded and smirked at my amazed guffaw.  “Dude!” I enthused.  “We could totally sneak our way into Boston.”  

“Or out of the country.  If we had to.”  

“Good to know.”  But it did put things in a more somber perspective.

“Here,” he said with a nod toward the nearest workstation.  “Want to try it out?”

“The—what—you mean, like, launch something?”

“A simulation of a launch, yes.”

He pushed the power button of the computer and typed in a command at the welcome prompt.  Two minutes later, my fingers were flying over the keyboard; I was captaining a virtual submarine through the churning depths beneath the falls.

“This is awesome,” I breathed as I scanned the radar data and steered clear of some sort of debris jutting up from the rocky riverbed.  Trowa pointed out a second snag in silence and I got the sub maneuvered around that, too.  Falling rocks struck next and Trowa’s wordless guidance kept me calm as I sealed off the damaged section of the hull and sailed on.  Right into a bottleneck.  The river currents almost spun the little craft around, but I was getting the hang of this: left engine, right engine, rudder, reverse.  I breathed a little easier once I got through that bit, but tensed for what had to be even bigger challenges up ahead.  And boy, were they.  The Saint Lawrence Seaway was crammed with traffic and I had to dodge the propellers and hulls of one massive cargo ship after another.  I practiced sneaking into locks and scooting out of the way before the wake from passing ships could stress the little sub’s engines.

When we made it to the river delta and the Atlantic Ocean stretched out before us, I threw up my arms in victory, nearly bonking Trowa in the nose in my enthusiasm.  “Whoo-hoo!” I crowed.  “Home free, baby!”

He smiled and leaned in to give me a long kiss in reward.  “Now you just have to practice your parking.”

“Bring it on,” I dared, flexing my hands over the keyboard.  “We have time, right?”

“We have time.”

So I got the little craft maneuvered into a private harbor and anchored beside a dock.  Surfacing and releasing the hatch was a cinch.  I squinted at the screen, noting the Google-Earth-quality of the images.  “Is this an actual place?”

Trowa tapped the monitor and I noted the name of the harbor.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.  If I understand the train system correctly, you’re less than an hour away from the New York clan headquarters.”

I sat back in my chair and felt Trowa’s forearm press against my shoulder.  My jaw clenched at this news; Solo and Chang were in New York.  And I could only think of one reason for why Trowa would want to show me how to get there.  “This is—”

“In case of emergency,” he murmured.

Leaning back, I met his gaze with mine.  Unbelievable.  He’d just maneuvered me into doing a simulation course for captaining a fucking submarine.  But setting aside the incomprehensible possibility that I would ever need this training, there was one thing that was absolutely non-negotiable: “You’d be coming with me.”

I didn’t wait for him to reply.  I stood up and yanked him close with enough strength to make him stumble a bit.  “You would be coming with me,” I repeated.

His knuckles brushed over my cheek and jaw, and then he was leaning down to kiss me sweet and slow.  I followed him as he pulled away, our lips clinging.

“Get back here,” I ordered, shoving the keyboard aside and planting my ass right on the desktop.  I scooted the accompanying chair out and crooked a finger at him.

He quirked an eyebrow at me, but followed my direction in expectant silence.  He sat and I grabbed for his shoulders, angling in for another kiss.  This one was long and deep.

“This is a date?” he checked quietly, nuzzling my ear and I grinned.

“You bet.  You complaining?”

He pinched my knee and I jumped, squeaked, and snorted.  In that order.  I ruffled his hair, tugged his bangs aside and ducked in to nip at the lobe of his ear.  The computer monitor blanked with sleep mode and it reminded me of other things: unknowns and manipulations.  In other words, the actual reason we’d found someplace to be completely alone together.

I brushed my lips over his beard stubble.  “From the sound of it, the logistics meeting was a lot more lively than you made it out to be this morning.”

“Yes.”

I considered asking if he’d given me the wrong impression on purpose, but instead I just cut to the chase.  “I would have liked to have been there, though.”  

He leaned back and looked at me, long and solemn.  “I’m glad you did not have to hear the things that were said.”

“About you?”

He nodded.  “Me.  You.  Us.  I spent eight hours drawing and redrawing the line that was not to be crossed by the captains and their lieutenants.”

“I’m sorry, babe.  Coming between you and Heero last night was maybe not the best idea?”

“It was the only option.  I would have killed him.  The fault is mine; I didn’t expect to lose control so completely.”

And it sounded like he’d paid for it over and over again at that damn meeting.  “I still wish I’d been there.”  In response to his flat look, I shrugged.  “Hey, maybe it’s bad manners for me to hold the guy while you throw the punches, but I could at least stand with you.”

His lips quirked.  “If you’d been there, they would have tried to make you part of their game.  It was simpler this way.”

I didn’t like it, but I could see his point.  And I hadn’t spent the day uselessly worrying about him.  Still, he needed to realize that I wasn’t always gonna blindly follow orders.  “Suppose I’d ditched Sylvia and come to find you?  What would I have walked in on?”

He frowned, which was an answer in and of itself.  Sort of.

“Yeah.  Well, you’re bringing me with you to the next meeting,” I reminded him.  “An’ if they want an encore, I’ll sort the little shits out.” 

Trowa tilted his head to the side and gave me an expectant look.

I grinned.  “It’ll be fun watching them dodge Sicarian spit wads.”

As Trowa had once seen a bored little boy pelting customers in the cafe with that very ammunition, he knew what I was talking about.  And yes, I got a chuckle out of him.

“Thank you,” I breathed, gripping his hard shoulders tightly.  “For doing this.”

“My Duo.  Of course I would.”

My smile was… resigned.  Yeah, we were in this mess together.  That was for damn sure.

“Tell me about Sylvia,” he requested and I passed on what I’d learned about her plans for us.  I could tell Trowa liked it about as much as I did.  So we were on the same page there, gut reaction-wise.

“Now comes the big question; do we let her think I’m cool with this and try to use her more than she’s gonna use us, or do we tackle this head-on?”

“Both, perhaps,” Trowa unhelpfully replied.

Rather than get frustrated, I nudged him.  “OK, logistics.  Fill me in.  What do we got to work with... besides a badass underwater launch bay?”

He snorted softly with humor and gave me his report.  Which was pretty damn impressive.

“We can do this,” I assured him when he finished.

He met my gaze.  “I know.”

And then we were done talking about work.  We spent the next half hour kissing in the control room.  Making out with my husband as the sun set and darkness fell.  It was the best date ever.

Except for one not-so-small detail.

I winced as I slid off of the edge of the desk and things adjusted against that damned codpiece.  “Goddamn it, baby.  The meeting—how am I supposed to navigate there?”

Trowa suggested with a fat smile, “I could carry you like I did last night.” 

The words struck a chord and I remembered: he totally had.  I slouched onto his lap, lowered my head to his shoulder, and groaned.  Jesus.  No wonder everyone had been staring at me today.  I was a one-man spectacle.

“What are our plans for the night?  After the meeting?”

“Anything you want,” he promised in a throaty baritone.

“Oh God.  You, me, and a mattress that doesn’t talk back.  Is there any chance we can make that happen?”

He chuckled and pulled me into a tight embrace that was surprisingly soothing.  “I’ll do my best.”

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders.  “You do.  You always do.  I know you do,” I blathered. 

He released a long breath and I felt him relax against me.  The fey might not have the same concepts of gender, but from what I’d learned earlier today, I could just imagine what being banished had done to Trowa’s sense of self-worth.  Finally, here in this forgotten military base, he had the chance to be a good consort to me.  He could take point.  He could come into his own.  If he were human, he’d be manning up.  Being a man.  How completely emasculating the past few months had to have been for him.  Not that gender was a thing in our case, but… you get what I mean.  The fey version of emasculation.

“You come through for me,” I whispered sappily.  “Here or Caerlaverock.  Boston.  New York.  London.  Anywhere.  Every time.”  I couldn’t bring myself to look into his eyes, but I knew he heard me.  He clutched me tighter and sniffled softly.

I combed his hair with my fingers and he petted mine with his knuckles.  He massaged my scalp, pressed a kiss to my temple, and wrapped me up tightly in his arms.  For some reason, the image of him like this – holding onto me as if his life and sanity depended on it – wasn’t at odds with the unreadable expression he showed the captains of the fey resistance.  Maybe I was finally getting used to the duality of all this.  There was the side of him that he gave me – the committed and devoted consort who was vulnerable and needy and possessive – and the side of himself he offered his own kind.  He was blunt to the point of being harsh as he brought the meeting to order, but he was still my Trowa.

“My companion—”  Trowa didn’t have to gesture to me.  I was, literally, standing close enough for us to be joined at the hip.  As promised.  “—and I will be introducing the Sicarian to both our allies and enemies.  Anyone interested in offering assistance with this endeavor may remain.”

“You putting up the return favor for this, Duo?” Hilde demanded with a smile.

I didn’t even bother to open my mouth.  Trowa spoke for me.  “Hilde Schbeiker, if you have something to say to my companion, you will address it to me.  Or you will get out.”

If I hadn’t sat down with Sylvia for lunch today, I would have been pissed at this high-handed treatment.  I knew my dealings with Quatre had impressed Trowa, and Trowa trusted me to steer clear of fey entrapment, but if he didn’t actively protect me from fey manipulation in public, his people would think he was failing in his duties to me.  So, no, I wasn’t offended.

Hilde didn’t look offended, either.  She looked thrilled, actually: the Silencer was living up to the hype.  Or so I hoped.  If he wasn’t, then our plan was never gonna work.

Hilde sing-songed, “Who’s fronting the favors, fearless leader?”

“This concerns a threat to my companion and myself.  I will return the assistance given to us in kind.  No more, no less.”  He paused.  “Shall I continue?”

One by one, the assembled fey nodded.  Heero was the first, and was followed quickly by Hilde.  All seven captains sat down.  Well, sat in one manner or other.  Hilde leaned a hip against the table, affecting a lackadaisical pose.  A fey I was sure had congratulated Trowa the night before just after the fight straddled his chair, leaning forward on his arms.  Another was leaning back, balancing on two chair legs and kicking her boots up onto the tabletop.  Trowa held my chair out for me.  With a smirk, I climbed onto it, perching on the back with my feet on the seat.

Trowa’s lips twitched.  He tugged my wrapped braid once and then leaned back against the wall.  Heero was the only person using his chair as it was intended to be and that was just fine.  One out of seven.  I was cool with those odds.

“Looks like we’re all staying,” Heero observed.

“Okie dokie,” I began, just as Trowa and I had discussed.  “It’s time for the council to meet the Sicarian.”

Hilde snorted.  “What council?”

“The new one,” I fired back.  “Masters, clan, resistance, and me.”

For a moment, everyone just absorbed that in silence.

A dude named Jun asked, “General, you wish the resistance to be represented there?”

“I do.  I will personally attend.”

“No.  Too risky,” Hilde was quick to argue.  “The Winner wants both of you too badly to—ooooh.”

I smirked.  I’d wondered who the first person to figure it out would be.  With Hilde’s vocal epiphany, the figurative lightbulb clicked on for the rest of them.  Except maybe Heero, who looked unsurprised.  Maybe he’d had it figured long before this.  I said, “Right, so let’s make this nice and juicy, people.”

Trowa’s hand settled on my shoulder and I let him take point.  He would know just what to say and how to say it in order to get the best outta his captains.  We couldn’t afford any half-hearted attempts.

The strategy he outlined was met with a decided lack of enthusiasm.  Derisive snorts, rolled eyes, and questioning looks.  All of which I countered by pointing out one very important thing, “I’m not fey.  Quatre Winner knows it, an’ he’s gonna try an’ use it against me.”

“So we use it against him,” Trowa concluded in a dark rumble.

Nobody had any complaints after that.

Holy shit, this was really gonna happen.

“So, can you really turn on my computer in Boston from here?” I asked Heero, to whom I’d been assigned for the kick-off.

“Likely,” he not-promised as his fingers flew across the keyboard.

“Uh-huh.  It might still be on.  If Solo forgot to shut it down.”  Again.  __And__  if my brother still had enough zeroes left in his bank account to cover the electric bill.

Jesus.  I still couldn’t believe he’d totally walked out on his job, our home, his life.  I mean, it totally wasn’t safe for him to go back there, but still.  I’d expected him to, y’know, bitch about it.  At least once.  But he never did.  Not to me, anyway.  I wondered if Chang’s sour expression was a direct result of putting up with Solo, He Who Does Not Let Anything Fucking Go.

Or maybe it was a case of the blue ball blues.

“What’s the message?” Heero prompted as he opened up my email provider.

I recited, “Regarding Lake George, New York.  Treize, Dermail, Tsuberov, Septum, Une, Zechs.  Will meet to discuss terms.  September 6th, 16:00 Eastern Standard Time.  Skype username: bostonbrosmaxwell.  To join video chat, enter code: rockyroad.”

Heero dutifully typed it out, then paused.  “And?” he prompted when I didn’t say anything.

“That’s all, buddy.  Less is more.  Keep ‘em curious.”

“To kill the cat,” he muttered, but copied the message and sent the first email off to its recipient. 

I watched as he right-click-pasted my announcement into the textbox and typed in the next email address.

I counted eight emails sent just like this before I had to ask: “You totally know the masters’ email addresses, like, off the top of your head?”

He gave me a quick, irritated look.

I backed off.  “OK, OK.  Fine.  I believe you.  But, shit.  How’dya remember ‘em?”

His fingers didn’t slow as he systematically made contact with the rest of the fey world via a remote connection with the computer I shared with Solo.  “The way I learned them,” he replied.  “The hard way.  You will find a way to store data in your long-term memory.  In scent or conversation or pain.”

I took a minute to run down the implications of his advice.  “You and Sylvia have been through this, huh?”

“Yes.  Perhaps it would be best if you asked her for advice.”

It undoubtedly would be.  God forbid I get too chummy with another fey.

I shut my mouth and watched Heero work until Trowa was done with his end of things.  Incredibly, it sounded as if Trowa was giving each captain three areas to guard, overlapping their duties, instead of giving each captain one or two to worry about.  This seemed contrary to me, but what did I know.  I sure as hell had enough on my own plate as it was: announcing the council meeting was just one step in an intimidatingly long laundry list of mission stages.

“Done,” Heero Yuy announced.

“So, can you track their locations?”

He snorted.  “I know where their computers are located.  That’s not the issue.”

No, it wasn’t.  People didn’t have to be in the same place as their computers for them to access the information thereon.

Heero continued, “I’ll be standing by.  When they access their email, I’ll be able to trace them to a physical location.”

“Be it in the same room as their computer or half across the country with their mobile phone,” I summed up.

“Yes.”

“Good work,” Trowa interjected before I could express my thanks… which was maybe why my husband had stepped in precisely when he had.

Heero’s tense shoulders relaxed.  He acknowledged the appreciation with a nod and I let Trowa guide me out of the briefing room past captains who were arguing, snarling, and smirking over strategies concerning the weak points they’d been charged with protecting.

Oh, yeah.  It was all starting to come together.

Except for the part where I could cut Trowa up without even touching him.  That was gonna have to get sorted out.  Good thing we figured out where to find a volunteer for me to practice on.

We hunted up a new mattress in the storeroom and wasted no time carting it back to our place, evicting the rotted piece of shit that just about fell apart when we peeled it up off the bunk, and walking our new friend past the crate towers.  The previous occupant had a date with judge and jury.

“You are gonna rue the day you poked me in the ass with those rusty springs, pal,” I informed the decrepit mattress.  It was now propped up in the corner of an empty room that Tro and I had appropriated.  Like a blindfolded condemned facing the firing squad.

“You should stand back,” I warned him, tugging my gloves off.  “Or maybe leave.”

He leaned against the wall beside the door and crossed his arms over his chest.  There was absolutely no reason for me to get nervous.  But I was.  Totally.  First-time-behind-the-wheel-at-driver’s-ed kind of nervous.  But Trowa was my lover… so how was this any more awkward than anything else we’d confronted together?

It wasn’t.

Right.  Well, I hadn’t really expected him to leave me alone in here with nothing but the Sicarian for company.  Besides, he had every right to see what I could do – what might happen to him the next time I lost control.

Clearing my throat, I closed my eyes and tried to remember how it had felt when I’d sliced my hands through the air and cut the side of his face.

Possession.  That was the easy part.  Familiar.  But there was also rage and betrayal and a sick feeling deep in my belly, a burning nausea that made me want to scream or puke or destroy something with my bare hands.

The sound of something tearing startled my eyes open and I gaped at the roll of bedding.  It was split open, five tears gaped across it and I realized they mirrored my clawed fingers.  Holy hell.  I hadn’t really expected anything to happen.  Everyone who’d spoken of the Sicarian had made it sound like the power only worked on fey.  Eyes wide and throat dry, I reached out, focused on that single word – __MINE!__  – and felt the emotion dial up.  When I was sure my eyes were flashing with that impossible, silvery gleam, I pressed my palm to the mattress.

And then leaped back with a shout as the spot freakin’ exploded into flame.

Shit.  Fuck.  Holy—!

The rotted bedding smoldered and smoked, leaving an incriminating handprint behind.

I whipped around to gauge Trowa’s reaction.

He was smiling.

“You—what the—is this good news or somethin’?” I demanded.

He nodded.  “The best.”

It took a moment for the penny to drop.  “I’m lethal to humans, too.”

“Very.”  He didn’t even try to soften the sharp edges of his feral grin.

I eyed the sliced and burned bits of the old mattress.  If Sally Po and her boys hadn’t taken out Une’s human goons back at Lake George, would it have been me who killed them?  It was true that simple skin-on-skin contact seemed safe between me and other humans – otherwise Chang and Solo would have been in a world of hurt during our sparring sessions – but it looked like all bets were gonna be off if I got my dander up.  But what about human assassins who caught me by surprise?  A sniper’s shot that I wouldn’t even __see__ coming?  I wondered if the Sicarian would surge to the fore to protect me the same way it had when I’d been shot by fey.  If I was very lucky, I’d never have to find out.

“Well, I’m glad you feel good about this,” I mumbled.

I felt his hand on my shoulder.  “I approve of anything that keeps you safe.”

And that was his whole philosophy in a nutshell: damn the rest of the world and to hell with innocent bystanders so long as Duo was all right.

Jesus.

“Try it again,” Trowa requested and I drew a deep breath.

It didn’t matter what I thought or felt about this.  I had to control it or I was going to hurt someone when I didn’t have to or want to.  The best way to find out if control was even possible was to practice.  And thanks to my time spent at Master O’s farmhouse getting a crash course in meditation and martial arts, I was able to focus enough to give it a shot.

By the time my stomach told me it was due for a late night supper, I’d figured out how to slice through the mattress from six feet away.  All I had to do was turn my guts into a knot of fury and disgust.  Oh, the joys of being the Reaper.

Trowa said nothing as, with a final slash of the flat of my hand, the mattress was cut completely in half and tumbled to the floor.  I blinked at the deep scratch in the concrete wall.  It lined up perfectly with the edge of the bedding, proving that it hadn’t been a feature of the room before I’d walked in here.

Well, it sure as hell was one now.

“Trowa,” I began hesitantly.

“No,” he replied, anticipating my next words.  “I’ll not keep my distance from you.  You’re my companion.  My husband.  My lover.”

“I could hurt you.  Really hurt you.”

“I’ll heal.”

Even if the unthinkable happened?  Hell, I’d almost taken out his eye just yesterday.  What if my aim had been half-a-head lower?  What if—his neck—?

He stepped forward and grabbed my arms.  “Duo, you will know when you are a danger to others.  And you will be able to control it.  Even if that means directing it at a safe target.”

How did he have so much faith in me?  I wasn’t sure if I loved him for it or wanted to strangle him.  

“Come,” he invited, “let me feed you.”

I checked my watch.  It was after midnight.

“Food.  Right.”  I guess that was one word for what we ate in this place.  Couldn’t say it was anything to write home about, though.  “Then what’s next on the checklist?”

“Research.”

Oh, wonderful.  How many ways could I lose my temper over something that the Silencer had written down decades – or maybe even hundreds of years – ago?  I rubbed my eyes.  “You sure know how to show your husband a good time, babe.”

I turned toward the door, but he hesitated.  In that moment, I replayed my comment and—“Shit.  I didn’t mean—”

“Are you unhappy with me?” he checked.

“No.”  I grabbed his hand and realized that I hadn’t put my gloves back on yet.  My wedding band winked at us.  “Don’t—” leave me alone.  “Just—” stay with me.  “You’re—” the only thing keeping me from going total batshit crazy.  “I can’t—” deal with the scope of these plans without you.

He waited for me to spit it out.

“We’re a team,” I said.

His brows smoothed and his lips curved the slightest bit.  “We are.”  He pressed a kiss to my lips.  “Let me take care of you.”

“What about the research?” I tested him.

“Later,” he purred.

A mere twenty minutes later, we’d eaten and were squeezing past stacks of memories to get to our bunk, version 2.0.  I flopped back onto it with an “Oomph!” that had Trowa grinning down at me.  

“Acceptable?” he inquired.

I wiggled.  “Hmm.  I dunno, General.  Maybe you’d better check for yourself.”

He leaned over me, one knee nudging between mine in an invasion of personal space that was damn promising.  I tugged on the shoulders of his jumpsuit and he stretched out, humming against my neck.

“Hey, hey, you’re supposed to be checking out the bed,” I teased, tightening my arms around him.

He smiled against my cheek.  “You’re in the way.”

“Oh?  Sorry ‘bout that.  I’ll just pick my ass up and—”

“Fuck me.”

Oh, God.  I was never gonna get over how those words sounded in his voice.  I groaned, turning toward his mouth to seal this bargain with a kiss.

A tug on the lowest of my jacket closures and then Trowa’s cool, bare hand was groping over my pebbling skin.  But then— _ _oh hell please yes!__   I shivered from the snarling, magical warmth that radiated from his touch.

“This is new,” I gasped.

“It’s my turn to play with my power.”

My pulse rocketed as his hand moved up from my waist toward my chest and – __o__ _ _oo__ _ _h, fuck!__

Maybe I moaned.  I honestly wasn’t sure.  I tore at Trowa’s clothes until he yanked his arms from the sleeves and I could shove the whole unwelcome mess down to his hips.  My hands searched over his skin again and again – back, shoulders, arms, chest, neck – as if any part of him that I wasn’t touching, wasn’t making real beneath my hands, would vanish into thin air.  

I licked-sucked-nipped his throat and his groan was— _ _ah, God.__   I needed him.  Needed to be with him so badly.  Just—damn it—the lube was—where?  Fuck—I had no idea—  

“Duo,” he begged urgently, his fingers flexing in my hair and sending shimmering waves of heat over my scalp and down my spine.  My fucking lips tingled.  “Duo,” he insisted.

“Fuck, yes,” I agreed, so there with him.  Wanting it so fucking much.

My blood was pounding and clattering.  The iron in my cells was banging around from one vessel to the other hard enough to make my skin vibrate.

Trowa groaned, “No.”

That single word was a bucket of ice water.

I yanked my hands away, panting with sudden terror that I’d cut him again.  “Where’d I hurt y—?”

_Bang, bang, bang!_

For a second, I couldn’t identify the noise.  I was looking Trowa over – or trying my damnedest to as he burrowed closer to me in a plea for more.  More of me.  More of us.  More of this.

“You’re not hurt,” I realized as the clamor came again.  My relief was almost orgasmic.  “The door.  Someone’s at the door.”

He shook his head against my shoulder.  “Duo.  I need you.  Inside me.  Duo.”

Oh, how I wanted to oblige him.  With every damned fiber of my being—

_BANG!  BANG!  BANG!_

My head fell back to the mattress on a sigh.  “God damn it.”

I tightened my arms around him, squeezed my eyes shut, and took a deep breath.  I wasn’t sure if I’d managed to summon a measure of patience or stoke the fire of my own frustration.

Either way, the person on the other side of the door was gonna be the recipient.  “Lemme up, baby.  I gotta kill the s.o.b.  Then you’ll have me however you want me.”

He moaned at the promise, his grip flexing.  Smooth, slick, hot sensation washed over my skin and I groaned in surrender.

_BANG!  BANG!  BANG!_

He snarled and I twitched away from the suddenly sharp tips of his fingers.  A crackle of magic washed over him, like a magician whipping the tablecloth out from under a romantic setting for two.  He sat up, bristling with feral energy.  Holy hell.  God help the idiot out there on our doorstep.

I scrambled up and lunged for the door before Trowa could beat me to it.

I checked the peephole and reached for the latch.  “This had better be important,” I barked at the pair of old farts crowding the stoop.

“I should think that our research would be of great interest to you,” G snarked.  “As you’re the one who demanded we continue it.”

“Shinigami.”  J grinned.

That was true, however— “I’ll get back to you.”

I slammed the door shut in their faces and wrenched the lock shut.  I turned around and a zing of anticipation shot through me at the sound of a plastic cap popping open.

“Come here,” Trowa insisted and I tossed my clothes onto random stacks of crates as I returned to bed and accepted the bottle of lube that he shoved into my hand.

“You sure are bossy, General,” I joked.

“You promised I could have you however I want.”

“That is what I said.”

“Come.  Here.”

Oh, God.  Just.  God.  Trowa was insatiable as he rode me.  I lost track of the number of times he reached back to tug at my balls when I was on the verge of coming.  He kept me hard and deep for so long I would have worried about him rubbing himself raw if he hadn’t been capable of healing himself.  Which he did.  Over and over again.  I felt the tingling heat of it surround my cock and fucking fuck it was so amazing.  Indescribable.

I had no idea what time it was when he finally let me come, when I passed out from the intensity of it.  My next moment of awareness arrived with the sound of pages turning.  Yet again, I woke to an empty bed and, this time, there was a naked consort seated at the workstation, intent on stacks of handwritten notes.

It was 4:17 a.m.

“Baby,” I groaned.

He reached over and smoothed my bangs back from my forehead.  “Sleep more,” he encouraged.  “The next meeting is at nine.”

I sighed.  “Di’ya sleep at all?”

“I’m fine.”

“Fucking fey answer,” I mumbled and he chuckled.

He stroked my hair once more and then there was a soft click and a wave of darkness as he shut off the light.  The mattress dipped and I shifted over to make room.  He spooned up behind me, curled himself around me like a fortified battlement, and pulled me tightly into the curve of his larger frame.

He didn’t sleep, though.  I knew this because neither did I.  After what felt like an eternity of waiting for slumber to happen, I let out a heavy sigh and fidgeted.  Trowa kissed the side of my neck and I asked him to tell me something.  Anything.

He told me about Heero.  That history was a trip and a half.  The guy was awfully suicidal for a fey.  Maybe it was the grudge in him or something.  Still, the Silencer had hauled his ass from the brink of death no less than a dozen times.  Including—

“In the seventeenth century, both Heero and Quatre approached a prominent royal family in India for control of a nearby dell.  As you can imagine, it wasn’t difficult for Quatre to gain the obvious favor of the shah.”

“And Heero?” I asked when he paused to take a breath.

“I’d sent someone to keep an eye on the situation and warn him.”

“Yeah?  Anyone I know?”

“Yes.  Lucrezia Noin.”

“Noin.  Quatre’s lawyer?”

“Apparently, she wasn’t always his lawyer.”

“No kidding.  So, she saved Heero’s ass?”

Trowa hummed.  “If he’d remained the night, he would have been captured and tortured for the shah’s entertainment.”

“Entertain—ugh.  Seriously?”

I felt Trowa shrug.  “This has been the fate of many fey who tried to bargain with royal courts around the world.  How Quatre was able to avoid the same treatment, I don’t know.”

Jesus.  Maybe the fey needed an archive of their own.  It sure as hell sounded like there ought to be plenty of human heads floating in glass jars with their crimes indexed and recorded for posterity.

I opened my mouth to share this thought—

—and grunted at the sound of a fist pounding on our door.  I arched back to check the clock.  It wasn’t even five in the morning yet.

Trowa shifted, sitting up and searching for his jumpsuit.

A second series of resounding clangs had me rolling out of bed.  I grabbed a T-shirt and pair of sweats from the nearest clothes stash.  As I was dressed before Trowa had started in on the snaps, I figured I might as well deal with our guest.  Tro obligingly cued the lights.

“If it’s those fucking philosophers again, I really will fry ‘em,” I grumbled.

But it wasn’t.

“Hilde,” I greeted, uncertain in the face of her somber expression.

“There’s a message for the general.  It’s urgent.”

“Um, hold on a minute—”

“A message from who?” Trowa called quietly.

Hilde leaned her hand against the door jamb and tilted her head pointedly to the place where her fingertips were drawing letters over the rust stains.  “Sorry, I can’t really say.”

But her doodle said plenty: N-O-I-N.

How creepy was it that Tro and I had just been talking about her?  I mean, really.

“Thanks for nuthin,’” I grumped.

She shrugged.  “Next time I’ll bring cupcakes.”

I rolled my eyes.  By this time, Trowa had made his way over to us.  His hand curled around mine and pulled it away.  “Wait outside,” he directed and shut the door.

“Noin,” I said in reply to his pointed look.

He frowned thoughtfully at the crate towers.  “Her file should be here,” he said tapping his forefinger against one box, “or here,” he added with a jerk of his chin to one across the way.

I took the second and started shifting shit around to get to it.  Trowa was probably about halfway through rummaging in the first crate when I found what we were looking for.

“Here it is,” I told him, pulling out the file and flipping open the cover.

__What the—?_ _

“Duo,” Trowa warned softly and I realized I was scowling.

“No, no,” I assured him.  “I’m not freaking out on you again.  It’s just, uh, this.”  I turned the file so he could see what had caught my attention.  A single torn sheet of yellow, ruled paper – like from a legal pad – had been deliberately placed on top of the high-quality stationary that filled the rest of the stack.  There were two words scribbled on it in Trowa’s hand: _Darlian’s daughter._

Oh, super.  More mystery.

I didn’t ask what I knew he didn’t know.  He said nothing as he squeezed deeper into the room and started dismantling another crate totem pole.  Locating the file only took a few seconds.  I exchanged my cotton clothing for fey cloth, watching him stare at whatever was in the folder for two solid damn minutes.

Tying the last knot on my tunic, I jerked my chin toward the documents.  “Hey.  You gonna clue me in or what?”

“Darlian is a fey.  His companion is a woman who has a daughter.  A charisma.”

“A charisma,” I repeated.  “One of those super-rare super-influential people we were just talking about yesterday?”

“Yes.  Duo, a charisma coming forward now – this is the worst possible time.”

I could see that.  Darlian’s daughter was bound to be on everyone’s Most Wanted list.  The masters, Quatre… hell, even Sylvia would be clamoring for the chance to win her over.  Everyone was already getting hot and bothered over me and Tro shifting the power balance in favor of the fey resistance.  Things were gonna go nuclear if a charisma of unknown loyalties was thrown into the mix.

“Fuck.  OK.  What can we do to minimize the insanity?”

“Hide her.  Protect her.”

“I’m cool with that.  Where is she now?  Her and her mother?”  It would be the height of stupidity to separate them.  Fey might not have families or form the same kind of emotional attachments with each other, but they’d long since figured out that humans could be controlled by threatening someone they held dear.  Hell, we’d spent more than one evening around the kitchen table back at O’s farmhouse trying to figure out how to counter that exact situation: we’d known it was only a matter of time before the Sicarian would be making its debut to the fey world and our enemies were sure as shit gonna be playing on my very human sympathies.  And there were something like eight billion potential hostages for Quatre Winner – or some other asshole who wanted my attention – to choose from.  I’d been pretty pleased with the counter-measures we’d come up with, but now this charisma business had all the potential for really screwing things up.

I looked over at Trowa and commiserated with his frustrated frown.

He said, “Aside from Darlian, Noin is the only other fey who knows their location.”

“Right.  Are you sure this is why Noin’s trying to contact you?”

“No, but…”

I prompted him with a look.

“There’s more.”

Of course there was.  “Something I need to know?”

He nodded tightly.  The muscles along his jaw bunched and his gaze slid off to the side.  “Where are your gloves?” he asked and right then I knew it was really, really bad.

“On the desk there.”

Trowa passed them to me and waited until I’d put them on.

“I am yours,” he reminded me.  “Nothing will change that.  Ever.”

I stuck my hands behind my back and bit my lip.  “Just tell me.”

He continued watching me as he spoke, “Darlian’s daughter and the Silencer are betrothed.”

“Say.  What.  Now.”

“I won’t—”

“You bet your ass you won’t.  You’re mine.”  My eyes flashed.  I knew it by the way Trowa’s throat locked when he tried to swallow.

For a long moment, nobody moved.  I focused on breathing – one breath in, one breath out – while Trowa simply focused on me.  Watched me.  Absorbed the sight of my struggle for control.  More than a minute ticked by before I was finally able to uncurl my fingers and loosen my fists.

Damn it.  I was so tired.  Exhausted.  Lack of sleep and these sudden surges of instinct were really getting to be a pain in the ass.  I opened my mouth and hoped my apology would sound more sincere than resigned—

“I’m yours,” Trowa suddenly agreed.  Whole-heartedly.  His eyes gleamed with pure satisfaction like he was reveling in my claim over him and I wondered at it.

Before I could ask, he warned, “But there may be a penalty for breaking my promise.”

I closed my eyes.  Tried to imagine this was someone else’s problem.  I needed objectivity.  “We’ll deal with it,” I told him, “but how do we even know that the charisma wants to go through with this?  Maybe __she__  wants to break the betrothal.”

“It’s possible.”

I opened my eyes again.  Took a deep breath.  Calm.  I would be calm.  “OK.  Then let’s go find out what Noin wants.”  For all we knew, she was calling on Quatre’s behalf to ask us over for dinner again.

I held out my hand to him and he took it.  No hesitation at all.

That show of trust banished the Sicarian so completely I actually felt a little stunned.

“Thank you,” I said.  “For telling me.”

“Thank you,” he murmured.  “For forgiving me.”

“Forgiving what?  You didn’t make this promise – hell, you didn’t even know about it until now.”

“I’ve complicated things.”

I pulled him into my arms.  “We can counter this.”  And we would.  One way or another.

“What does Noin want?” Trowa demanded when the door to the communications room closed behind us.  Hilde sidled toward a seat as Sylvia turned away from the terminal Heero was using.  The guy was typing like mad.  Digital tap-dancing that seemed too loud for a meeting room that had been designed to accommodate twenty comfortably but now held only five people.

Sylvia answered, “She’s reporting in and she’s bringing two women with her.”

Shit.  This was starting to sound like Darlian’s companion and daughter were gonna be showing up on our radar after all.  Imminently.

Sylvia’s sharp gaze moved over both me and Trowa.  “Do you know what this is about?”

“Noin is reporting in?” I echoed, saving Trowa from having to address that.  “What the hell?  Noin works for Quatre.”

“She’s been allied with you – the Silencer – for nearly as long as I have,” Heero offered, attention clearly not as tech-focused as it had appeared to be.  “We’ve kept her with Quatre for intel.”

“That’s how we knew you were in London and needed papers,” Sylvia added.

“Doktor S had the documents on hand.”

Sylvia nodded, placing her hand on Heero’s shoulder.  “We’d been waiting a long time for that call.”

“Huh,” I said.  “So she’s ditching Quatre.”

“She wouldn’t do so lightly,” Heero asserted with a short glare in Trowa’s direction.

The General ordered, “Bring all three of them in.”

“She’s expecting __you,”__  Heero pointed out.

Trowa arched a brow and glanced at Hilde in eloquent silence.

She sat up like a puppy being offered a treat.  “Really?  I have your permission to do the thing you made me swear never to do?”

Her eagerness was kinda making me think Trowa should rethink whatever he was thinking.  Of which I had a pretty good idea: Trowa was gonna stay here at HQ with me while “Trowa” went out to do the meet-and-greet.

“For this one task,” the Silencer allowed in a tone that would be crossed only at one’s own peril.

Still, I could not see this working out well.  It had taken me and Tro less than a minute to work out that the Sylvia who’d come to meet us at the falls had been a fake.  I commented to Hilde, “I sure hope you’ve been working on those acting skills.”

“What are you talking about?  All I gotta do is lean against a wall, cross my arms, and do a mild glare.  See?”

She stood up, posed, and—

Holy hell.

She was Trowa.  His slouch.  His disinterested gaze that saw fucking everything and let on nothing of the thoughts going on behind it.  His hair and scars.  The color of his skin and its shadows.  Even her clothes had changed from the punk-rocker T-shirt, leather jacket, and ripped up jeans to a bland jumpsuit in desert camouflage.

My jaw dropped.

“Duo?” Hilde-turned-Trowa prompted in my husband’s voice.  She-he straightened from the wall and moved closer, looking for all the world like my Trowa: concerned and determined to investigate why I was gaping like a landed fish.

My husband put out an arm to stop her from coming any closer.

Hilde-Trowa looked him over.  “You don’t want to test it,” she said in perfect imitation of his this-is-not-a-question-it’s-an-observation tone.

“That is not necessary,” my consort replied.  “Noin will address you as Trowa Barton.  Correct her.”

“Trowa Maxwell,” Hilde-Trowa responded flatly.

“She may also ask about Solo.”

“My companion’s elder brother.  He is as well as can be expected given the circumstances.”

“How was the commercial flight from London?”

“Adequate.”

“Wrong.  It was a private jet of Winner’s.”

Hilde-Trowa accepted the criticism with grace, absorbing the nuances in my husband’s tone, word choice, posture, and expression as I looked on.  Jesus.  She really was damn good at the mock thing.

“We have a location,” Heero announced.  “55 Hampstead Avenue.  You may need a vehicle.”

“Take—”

“A dark-colored car that won’t be missed for a couple of hours,” our operative finished.  “Where do you want them when we arrive?”

“Unseen.”

“Understood.”  Then she-he winked at me.  “How am I doin’, Shinigami?”

God.  It was more than five kinds of creepy to see Hilde’s look wearing my fey’s face.  Dumbly, I managed, “You’re pulling it off.  Color me impressed.”

“Kept my word on that score, didn’t I?” A sly grin and a waggle of eyebrows.  “Do I get a kiss for luck?”

My Trowa was instantly between us despite the fact that Hilde hadn’t moved an inch.  He bristled, flexed his sharp-clawed fingers, and growled.  Hilde-Trowa leaned back, one visible green eye scanning my husband’s feral visage.  Learning that, too.

“Sorry, General.  I needed to see it.  Just in case.”

“Get out.”

She-he got.

Heart pounding and hands shaking, I looked at Trowa.

So did Sylvia and Heero.  “Can you tell us what this is about?” Sylvia asked.

“You’re assuming he knows!” I defended far too sharply.

“You have a good idea,” Heero declared, staring at my husband’s face.

Trowa didn’t deny it.  He didn’t offer any information, either.  He was busy watching me trying to keep it together.  I just—this was happening—a charisma—the Silencer was _betrothed_ —Sylvia wanted me to help _rule the fey world_ —I was _lethal_ —Hilde or some other mock could literally _become my husband’s doppelganger in the blink of an eye_ —what— _how—!_

I hadn’t run from Trowa when I’d lashed out and cut him – when I’d fucking _scarred_ him – but I ran now.

And I had absolutely no idea why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love love love to hear what you think of these fun things:
> 
> 1\. Trowa (“The Silencer”) and Quatre on a charisma-hunt in 1777 New England  
> 2\. Fey are sterile  
> 3\. The launch room and submarine simulator date  
> 4\. Trowa “manning up” for Duo among the fey  
> 5\. Duo meets the fey captains (only Heero knows how to use a chair correctly)  
> 6\. The Sicarian vs. the old mattress (and Trowa’s reaction to these developments)  
> 7\. Test driving the new mattress (despite cock-blocking doctors)  
> 8\. Heero’s history  
> 9\. Noin’s true loyalties  
> 10\. The betrothal  
> 11\. Duo’s reaction to all the things (including Silencer!Hilde)  
> 12\. SURPRISE ME!


	4. Strategic Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fey!Trowa POV
> 
> Theme music: “Castle Of Glass” by Linkin Park

There had been many reasons – good reasons – to go after Duo.  To follow him as he raced down the halls, skidded across a recently visited threshold, clattered up a dilapidated staircase, and slammed into a familiar room.  A good many reasons.

First and foremost, I was his consort and here, among hundreds of fey I had no recollection of allying with, it was my duty to ensure his safety.

I considered possible betrayers and saboteurs.  Assassins.  Traitors.  Fey indebted to Quatre Winner or any one of the surviving masters.

Or, mundanely, the more ambitious of my kind would be thrilled at the chance to befuddle the Silencer’s companion into agreeing to some sort of exchange of favors.  Duo being the Sicarian would deter few and pique the curiosity of many.

So very many good reasons to keep him in my sights despite the fact that he clearly wished to be alone.

Alone.

A spike of fear speared my chest, twisted, gouged deep.  I would never wish to be separated from Duo.  My mind was still new – empty and cold – and it would take decades for me to fill and furnish it with memories.  Decades before I would be able to feel comfortable in my own skull.  I had not told Duo this.  It would frighten him, I was sure.  Of the two of us, I would prefer to be the one who carried the burden of fear.

So I’d followed him.  Shadowed him.  Watched him.  Dreaded the moment when he would look back, see me on his trail, and quicken his steps.

But he hadn’t.

He was not trying to escape from me, then.  Perhaps he wasn’t even running __away.__   But if that was true, then what was he running towards?

It should be me.

I wanted it to be me.

 _Be patient,_  I reminded myself.  Duo would come to me again – I was his, irrevocably and undeniably – and he would return to me, allow me back into his arms where I belonged.

So I waited on the catwalk of the hangar, leaning against the wall and peering through the space provided by the door I’d soundlessly eased ajar.  All of my good intentions to protect him and all of my fey instincts to keep him close had driven me here.  Each a sufficient reason to stay.  To watch.

Except for the most compelling one:

My husband was not generally graceful.  His gestures were sudden and his mannerisms sometimes crude.  He could be gentle, so gentle as he kissed and caressed sounds of pleasure from me.  He could be subtle – nudging me with his elbow in a bid for contact as we moved through shops and streets or brushing some non-existent dust from my shoulder with his hand – but grace?  No, Duo was not graceful.

Unless he was moving from one tai chi form to the next.  Like he was now.  His bare feet shuffled and shushed against the floor of the launch control room.  His eyes were closed.  His braid unwrapped from fey-made cloth.  His hands bare.  His wedding ring winked in the flickering light.  He slid from one pose to the next as fluid as the water sheeting past the windows.  I tracked him through the narrow gap in the doorway, drinking in his form as the golden, morning light pushed back the lavender shadows and painted his mussed braid, his furrowed brow, his thin eyelids, the freckled ridge of his nose.

It was not unusual for me to think my companion beautiful.  Handsome.  Endearing.  Mesmerizing.

But now, sweeping his arms before his chest and crouching in a fighter’s stance, backlit by the illuminated cascade, he took my breath away.

I would do anything for his sake.

The thought filled me with a sense of pride and purpose even though I knew it would alarm him.

But as Duo had reminded me again and again: I was not human and he was not fey.

What he was – what we had – was a miracle.  How had he not run from me all those years ago when I’d found him lost and weeping in the forest of Nith?  He should have.  Humans instinctively cringed away from us; I’d seen this again and again.  But Duo hadn’t.  This was something that defied the undeniable incompatibility between magical and non-magical beings.  The two worlds would never merge, but perhaps they could negotiate.

Like Duo and I were still learning how to do.

He spun around on the ball of one foot, lifting his opposite knee and raising his arms above his head, and stopped.  Halted.  Perfectly balanced and breathless.

Then he stepped back, flowed into a form that was clearly meant to block an enemy attack, paused, and swiftly swept into a strike – a kick – and retreated in fluid silence.

It was like watching him think, like his thoughts and logic were made visual and visceral.  Watching him, I could grasp onto exactly how he’d discerned the depths of Quatre’s manipulations.  Duo’s mind was fascinating; I’d never had the privilege of __seeing__ its workings with my own eyes before, but now it made sense.  His mind wasn’t a barren landscape; it was a hungry and curious creature that thirsted to touch and test everything it perceived.  Active and searching and even violent.  Flowing ceaselessly from one observation to another, weaving connections with invisible instinct and indestructible logic.  If Duo’s mind could be made corporeal, then it would look just like this: acting and reacting, fighting shadows and forming symmetries.

Was this what I craved about him most?  His unceasing movement which I coveted for the sake of dispelling my own emptiness?

I did not know.  Nor did I really care to.

Duo drew himself into a stance I recognized: calm, centered.  The beginning and the end.  He was finished with the movements that Chang had taught him and then he had improvised upon.

He sighed, but didn’t turn away from the window.  “You can come in if you want.”

I did want, so I entered.

His shoulders lifted and lowered as he took and released a deep breath.  “I’m sorry.  For… y’know, takin’ off like that.  I… I’m just… sorry.”

I joined him at the window, standing at his side.  “Don’t be.”

“But, I—fuck, I just took off and—I promised.”  He leaned forward blindly until his forehead thumped against the glass.  “I promised not to leave you again.”

I considered my response carefully.  “I would prefer it if you didn’t do that again, but you are not me.”

With those words, I was able to capture his gaze.  All of his attention was focused upon me and I felt a thrill spiral through my entire body.  It was always like this.  When he was all mine, I could feel it.  Earlier, when I’d told him of the betrothal, and his subsequent decree – “You’re mine.” – _ah, yes._   I’d never felt such pure delight in the absence of his touch.

“You,” I offered quietly in reply to the tentative hope I saw in his eyes, “give me life.  Before you, there was only existence.  Survival.”

His throat worked.  His jaw clenched.

I held out my hand.  “Let me show you.”

“Show me what?” he rasped unsteadily.

“How we feel – how I feel us.”

He sucked in a quick breath.  “You sure you wanna do that here?  Now?”

“I’m sure.”  I pulled a chair out from under the nearest desk and lowered myself into the seat.  “Sit with me.”

He took my hand and I tugged him close, guided him into my lap so that he straddled my hips.  “Trowa,” he warned me even as he leaned closer.

“Shh,” I breathed.  “It’s all right.  We can do this sometimes, can’t we?  Just be together like this?”

His chin-gaze-brows jerked up and I knew he was remembering that first time in Boston when he had invited me to kiss him on the sofa.  I hadn’t been able to understand his motivations then.  I hadn’t been ready to.  I hadn’t yet learned how to love him.

But I had.  And now, I did.

I cupped his face in my hands and brushed my thumbs over his skin.  My fingers tingled as the magic gathered and crackled, contrary energies clashing.  I didn’t try to push his power aside.  Instead, I infused it with mine.  Knitted those sparks together – life and death – into dancing whorls.

He gasped.  “What—what are you doing?  Is this—?”

“I’m showing you.  This is what I feel – what I’ve always felt – when we touch.”

He panted.  Whimpered.  Clutched my wrists.  His lips trembled as he tried to breathe my name.

My name: _Trowa._

I was his Trowa.  Though I could heal any wound, though he could destroy any creature, _this_ was the most precious gift of all.

He rocked against me as my hands slid down his neck and my fingers plucked at the ties on his clothing.  He placed himself at my mercy, entrusted his entire being to me as I bared his skin and caressed him.

My companion.  Mine.

I ran one palm slowly down his bare back and he arched wantonly.  Curses catching in his throat and fingers twisting in my collar.  He rocked into me, rolling his hips.  Braced himself on my shoulder with one hand while the other smacked against the window, palm pressed flat against the glass and fingers splayed.  My hand quested along his shoulders and down to his breast, massaging his pert flesh.

His chin tipped back on a groan.  “Hnng!”

“How does it feel?” I asked, thankful that I’d learned some control over the past months.  The intensity had not lessened for me, but I was able to function through it.

“So—so—oh god so fucking good—warm an’ slick an’ ahh Jesus—it—it—it—!”  He gulped in a breath and forced his eyes open.  The sight of his heavy-lidded gaze nearly overwhelmed my intentions.  “You—you did this last night—when we—and—”

“Yes,” I agreed, but now I was funneling my complete focus into the task. Duo was clearly able to appreciate the difference.  I lightly pinched the skin beneath my fingertips and then reached down for the waist of his trousers to tease the soft skin of his exposed navel.

“Oh god—stop please—I can’t—anymore—I’ll come!”

I felt my lips curl as I smiled down at his arousal, still contained within his clothing but I could smell his essence as it leaked from his flesh, drop by drop.  I pulled my hands away from his skin and, as he struggled to catch his breath, I tugged the codpiece free.

The scent of him, the sight of his need – ah, intentions be damned.

“I would like to watch you,” I told him, lifting my gaze up to his, “cry for me.”

“Cr-cry?” he garbled.

I explained, “Because you feel so much, so good, so free.  So loved.”

A sudden breath burst from his lungs as he caught my meaning.  “I know you love me.”

I felt the hot sting of tears at his easy confidence.  His absolute trust.  But—“I want to see it.”

I waited for him to object to the mess we would surely make, but he merely bit his lip, reaffirmed his grip on my shoulders, and nodded.  “For you.  Yeah.  Anything.”

My heart clawed at my sternum.

He licked his lips and tugged at the fabric in his hands.  “You wanna be wearing your jumpsuit for this?”

I shook my head and reveled, caught in his total and complete focus, as his hands moved over my neck to my chest, opening the snaps one by one until I could shrug my way out of the sleeves.

“We shouldn’t be doin’ this here,” he muttered half-heartedly, glancing at the unlocked door.

“We should,” I argued.  “There are no memories here.  No files.  No past.  Just us.”

“And the falls,” he added, and I knew he wouldn’t protest again.

I kissed him, brought his mouth to mine and gave my love to him softly with the rasp of my tongue against his.  He tasted like fey wine.  He always had.  Sweet and juicy and sparkling in my mouth.   Shimmering over my skin.  Twinkling in my veins.  Since he’d become the Sicarian, the bite had only gotten stronger.  Sharper.  More addictive.

I pushed at his trousers until he stood.  Boots, fey cloth, and jumpsuit scattered on the floor.  I sat back, held out my arms, and he came to me, sliding close with a palm over my pounding heart.

Whatever calm he’d managed to summon during the interruption, was erased the instant I took up the melding again.  I swept my fingertips over his shoulder, felt goosebumps rise in their wake, heard his soft cry and I needed it.

“Tell me,” I breathed against the underside of his jaw as our powers joined and whirled beneath my hands and over his arms, his back, his hips, his thighs, “how it feels.”

“I—I can’t—it’s you—this is—oh fuck baby—I feel you—just you—all you.”

My tongue pressed to his throbbing jugular and I inhaled deeply.  Ah, his taste, his scent, his whine as he arched in my hands, let himself submit to the sensation that had once ruled only me.  But now that I’d learned how to share it with him, he let me.  He was bare and aroused and _weeping_ for me.

Duo bucked against me, brushing our arousals together and pressing himself closer.  He clawed at me, grasping and clutching.  Begging me with more than just mangled words and soft moans.  His heels dug into my calves as I stretched him out on a rack of unending, exquisite sensation with every sweeping pass of my hands.

“Baby—baby, please—I’m so fucking hard—please!”

He was.  Hard and flushed and glistening.  Beautiful.  Breath-taking.  My mouth watered and I wanted to taste him on my tongue, lick up his tears.

I wrapped my arms around him and lifted us both from the rickety office chair.  

He stumbled back.  I pressed him against the glass, holding him upright with a firm grip on his waist.  “Can you stand?” I asked him, waited for him to nod, and then I sank to my knees.

“Trowa—no—baby you don’t have to do anything—”

“I want this,” I told him, my entire being thrilling at that simple truth.  I _wanted_ this.  I wanted _this._   Finally.  “May I?”

Duo’s hands caressed my bangs away from my face.  “Yeah, but if you change your mind, it’s OK to—HOLY FUCK!”

 _Hmm, yes._  He tasted lovely.  So warm and so __him.__   I pulled back, letting him slip from my mouth on a sucking kiss, and licked him.  He twitched against my cheek and I wrapped a hand around him.  Pressed my lips against a newly gathered dewdrop, and blended our magic together over his hard shaft.

His head banged back against the glass.  He shouted something that might have been my name or a curse or a plea as his body jerked, his spine twisted.

And then he stopped breathing.  Breath suspended half in, half out of his flushed chest.  I took him into my mouth and let my hand fall away, releasing him from the thrall of our combined powers.

“Ahh-haa-aah!”

His essence surged over my tongue.  I held his hips still as he found completion, as his hands tightened on my shoulders, as his eyes opened, gazed into mine, and he found me.  Then he tilted his hips back, eased himself from between my lips, and lowered himself to his knees.

“You don’t—don’t have to, um, swallow,” he murmured, holding up a cupped hand for me to spit into.

I considered it as he combed through the hair at the back of my neck.

I didn’t look away from his eyes and pinkened cheeks as I refused the offer.  He watched my Adam’s apple dip, his mouth agape.  I rubbed my fingers over his lips and reminded him gently, “I don’t share well.”

“Good to know,” he teased, his eyes sparkling.

I leaned forward for another kiss and he gave it to me.  He would have given me more, would have used his hands and mouth to satisfy my arousal, but all I really wanted was for him to sit with me again.  I tugged on his arms and he followed me back to the office chair, straddled my thighs, and tucked himself against my chest.  I held him, petted him, soothed him.  Soothed us both until my arousal faded.

“You’re not gonna ask why I ran?” he murmured as we watched the play of sunlight through the falling water.

“Even if you don’t tell me, I won’t assume,” I promised.  Assuming had done far more harm than good in the past.  It was better – safer – to allow myself to not know, to not understand.

He sighed.  “Truth is, I—I’m in over my head.  I don’t think I can do this.”

“Do you wish to leave?”

He was quiet, very quiet.  So quiet that, when his reply finally came, it seemed little more than a sigh.  “Yeah, I do.”

I glanced at the computer monitors.  “Then we will.”

He followed my gaze.  “The submarine, huh?”

I nodded.  Waited.  Watched as he considered it.  Leaving now would destroy the trust that I’d regained from the fey of the resistance, but it couldn’t be helped.  If Duo wanted to leave, we’d leave.

“No,” he sighed.  He looked at me and, though he was no more certain about our course than he had been a few moments ago, I could see grim determination hardening his expression.  “Thanks, but no thanks, babe.”

So we would stay.

“What kind of fey is Hilde?”

“A mock,” I readily replied.

Duo absorbed this with a quiet hum and a nod.  He suddenly volunteered, “I didn’t like what she did.  ‘Mock’ you, I mean.  I really, really didn’t like it.  It… kinda freaked me out.”

 _Ah, no._ Duo frightened—that went against every fiber of my being.  My fingers moved up his spine to massage the back of his neck.  “There are certain things that will reveal her as a mock.  She cannot age-shift in any other form but her own.  And if she makes a mistake and others begin to suspect her, the façade crumbles.  You saw this happen yourself.”

He nodded.  “OK, yeah, but… are there many fey like her?  Mocks?”

I tilted my head to the side.  “They are not uncommon, but Hilde is very skillful, and that is rare.”

“Thank god.”  Duo lowered his forehead to my shoulder.  His breath steamed against my cooler skin.  “I get now why you didn’t want to do this – why you wanted to stay hidden.  I hate that everyone in this damn place wants a piece of you.”

“But you are the one who has me.”

His lips moved against my shoulder.  “By default, I guess.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, leaning away to get a view of his face.

He pressed his lips together and, under any other circumstances, it would have amused me to watch him fight the words.  It was almost as if he was as compelled to speak the truth to me as I was to him.  “This betrothal thing,” he finally mumbled, “seems like it woulda been a good deal.  The Silencer and a charisma.  That’s a pretty badass combination.  I just got in the way.”

My eyes narrowed.  “You are exactly where I want you.”

“That’s not—I mean, shit.”  He looked away, but didn’t try to leave my arms.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” he told me with an uncertain shrug.  “Or maybe I’m just over-thinking this.”

“You are concerned that someone will try to remove you from my side?  Impossible.”  It was.  Completely and utterly impossible.

“Yeah.  I get that.  If the Sicarian doesn’t do ‘em in, you will.  Kinda unfair, isn’t it?  To you?”

I grasped his arms and pushed him far enough back so that I could look into his eyes.  “Unfairness implies an imbalance, does it not?”  Or had I misunderstood the human concept?  “How are we not balanced, my chosen?”

“You’re kidding, right?” he sputtered.  He lifted his hands and gestured wildly.  “You’re this awesome badass.  You have a freakin’ military base.  Followers who can freakin’ copy—imitate—anyone they lay eyes on.  Jesus fried a chicken, Tro, what can I possibly bring to the table to match all that?”

“Duo, you bring yourself.  That is all I want.  All I need.  All of this—it was once my life, yes, but no longer.”

“But after we deal with Quatre—what—these guys are gonna wish us ‘bon voyage’ as we sail off into the sunset?”

“They will if that’s what I demand.”

He shook his head in stubborn disbelief.

I tried again, “We are here so that the fey who owe the Silencer debts can repay them.  I gave centuries to the resistance.  I healed its followers and protected their secrets and guarded their lives.  That is worth quite a lot to fey.  It’s understood that payment will one day come due.  They have waited for this opportunity for a long time.”

“So nobody’s gonna be upset when we just walk away?”

“That is our right.”

He blew out a deep breath.  “I—I guess I just—hate feeling this out of control.  I mean, I thought this shit was done with when you healed me, y’know?  Back in the forest.”

 If he craved control, it would be easy for me to give that back to him.  And not just in our bed.  “When Darlian’s daughter arrives, I would like you to speak with her.  And her mother.”

“Me?  What?”

“Please.  Human-to-human.”

He blinked at me and I grinned, proud of myself for coming up with the idea.  An idea that I liked, no less.  “Your interrogation of Sylvia was impressive,” I reminded him.  “Care to try again?  For me?”

“Fuck, you would ask me like that.  Manipulative fey.”

 _ _“_ Your_ manipulative fey,” I happily corrected him.

He smirked.  “Well, at least you’re owning it.”

I answered his smile with one of my own and waited for him to speak, wondered if he would take this opportunity to complain about other manipulations that he was aware of.  It was proving difficult to for me to abandon that part of my nature completely.  Especially if it meant losing one of my husband’s carefree smiles to a grave frown.

Surely, Duo had noticed more than one of my recent lapses.  But he said nothing.  He had nothing to say – his face was open to me and I saw no displeasure or irritation.

His fingertips traced over the scar on my left cheek.  I copied the pattern on his hip, doodling idly.

And then his stomach growled.

“Damn,” he muttered.  “If I’m not gonna be getting any taller or whatever, how come I still have the appetite of an eighteen-year-old guy?”

I had no answer to that.  But I could satisfy this need, which I did promptly following one last kiss.

We dined in the hall.

We retreated to the Silencer’s rooms.

We showered.

As I took my place behind him on the bed and began combing through his damp hair, I announced, “If anyone dares to disturb us—”

“You wanna be the one to put the fear of god in ‘em?” he guessed, twisting around to waggle his brows at me.

Cheeky human.  I leaned forward to nip his bare shoulder.  “Don’t move,” I commanded.

“Yes, sir, General, sir.”

I burrowed my fingers deep along his scalp, the cool strands sliding over the tender skin between my splayed fingers.

“How come you like braiding my hair so much?” he asked suddenly.

I answered, “Why do you enjoy coffee or chocolate or fresh bed sheets?”

“Huh.  It really just feels nice?  Makes you happy?”

“Yes.”  It was also soothing, but I hesitated to say so.  I couldn’t risk Duo suspecting I felt unsettled in any way.  For the first time, I wished Solo had come with us; it would have been advantageous for Duo to have more than one person on whom he could rely for stability.  It was exhausting.  And also rewarding.  But I was also the Silencer and the weight of _those_  duties combined with my efforts to anticipate Duo’s needs was indeed a tiresome weight to bear.

“Hey.  You OK?”

With a start, I realized that I’d stopped braiding.  “Just thinking.”

“Uh-huh.  You can share, y’know.  Maybe I can help.”

And he did want to help.  I could hear it in his eager tone.  He wanted to do something – be something besides the Sicarian.

I could give him this, too.  Had already given it to him, in fact.  I reminded him, “Thank you for agreeing to deal with the human females.”

He snorted.  “Women.  Say it with me now, _weh-mehn.”_

Grinning, I poked him in the side just to make him flinch.  As I moved down the length of his hair, he leaned forward on his elbows, then rolled onto his belly and I positioned myself astride his lower back.  “Am I too heavy?” I checked.

“Nope,” he sighed out, pillowing his head on his arms and kicking up his heels so he could knock gently against my back.

There was very little I wouldn’t give for more moments like this; that was why we were here, why we’d decided to confront Quatre, why we’d planned and prepared, why I’d become the Silencer again.  Being able to be with my companion like this… it was the only reason for all of it.  I didn't like the Silencer much, didn't trust him – who was this fey with all of my power but without Duo?  I had no interest in meeting him.

I tied off the end of Duo’s braid with a vague sense of loss, but distracted myself from it by settling down beside him.  I should read the remainder of Noin’s file.  I should read Andaluca’s, Jun’s, Rein’s... any number of fey that I’d once had dealings with.  Still had outstanding agreements with for that matter.  But I couldn’t summon the interest.  I tilted my forehead against Duo’s shoulder and rubbed his smooth, unmarked skin.  Whatever scars Duo had, they were on the inside.

We slept.  I don’t know how long, but we woke at the sound of a knock on the door.  Duo dressed before I did and I heard him disengage the lock just as I’d snapped a clean jumpsuit closed over my chest.

No more free shows, indeed.  My lips quirked; I liked that Duo was so very bad at sharing me with others.

“Yo.  You’re back.”

“Yes,” I heard Hilde-as-me say.  “Would you like to speak with them now?”

Duo glanced back at me.  I arched a brow at him in question.  “Might as well,” he advised.  “But not without a detour for some provisions first.”

The detour included a stop at the dry goods supply followed by a visit to the kitchen.  I watched with interest as Duo packed an old metal basket that he’d uncovered, lining it with some kind of checkered cloth that he arranged to conceal the contents as well as look appealing.  Details like this would not have occurred to me for the sake of these visiting females who would likely be more trouble than not.

Once Duo was satisfied with the “provisions,” we followed Hilde.  She’d ceased her mocking of my form and voice the instant I’d set foot across the threshold of the Silencer’s rooms and into the echoingly empty corridor.  Everyone was in position awaiting Winner’s first move.  We passed no one as Hilde directed us down a hall I’d never seen before but was familiar with thanks to the various facility maps I’d perused while Duo had slept the night before.

The very existence of those maps had been surprising.  I’d assumed that the files themselves existed for Heero (or some other leader of the resistance) to learn from in my absence.  The palm scanner was not set to take body temperature into account.  Any fey with access to this base could have used my severed hand to enter the Silencer’s rooms.

But what would Heero need maps for?  He wouldn’t.  The maps I had left for myself.  There was no other explanation.  Had I anticipated the philosophers’ experiment?  Or was there someone who still knew my name, who could still summon the Silencer?

According to Duo, there was: the Fates.

The Fates, who were little more than myth to the fey.  Even when Duo had confided his adventure in the fey realm to me, I hadn’t really believed that he’d met the Fates.  Certainly, he’d believed he had, but who they had really been was a mystery – what did those fey have to gain by pretending to be the Fates?  I could not repay the favor they’d done me by rescuing my companion and sending him back to the human world if I did not know who they were.

However.

Who else could know my true identity?  The philosophers wouldn’t have had to un-name and re-make me if any of them or Quatre or the masters of Treize’s alliance had been aware of it.

Perhaps the Fates were real after all.  The maps – the expectation they represented – certainly implied it.

The realization was foundation-quaking.

Thankfully, the Fates were not the focus of our next task.

We were near one of the least-used and most-secret entrances.  It was just as arduous a trek as the one Duo and I had followed Heero and Hilde through, but this one was accessible from the basement of a luxurious hotel in the city above.

“Did you leave a trail?” I asked her.

“Of course.  I mean, you want Noin to be able to lose the guys that were on her tail so she can report in, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we checked in at the hotel.  That should keep ‘em plenty busy.”

“Until it doesn’t.”

She smiled widely.  “Lookin’ forward to that, myself.  Here we are.”  She opened the door silently and I ushered Duo within.

My companion stopped, looked from the large window to the room and its occupants beyond.  The two female humans were more or less interchangeable: the same blue eyes and light-brown hair.  One wore hers up on top of her head; the other had drawn the sides back away from her face.  Jeans, shoes meant for walking, light blouses with cardigans.  There was no indication that one was the mother of the other.  But then, why would there be?  Darlian’s companion – if that was who one of our guests was – would be unaged from the time of the declaration.

Duo swore softly.  When he turned around, he was glaring.

“The hell is this?” Duo demanded of Hilde.

“An out-of-the-way room,” was her matter-of-fact retort.  She looked at me.  “You wanted their arrival to be unseen, so...”

Duo shook his head.  “This isn’t gonna work for them.  They need privacy.”

“As far as they know, they’ve got it.”

“As far as you know, they think they have it.  Trust me, if they haven’t figured out that the big ass mirror in their room is an observation window, then they will soon enough.  And then they’re gonna get uncooperative.”  Duo turned to me and asked, “Can you imagine my reaction to all this?  You know I’d clue in eventually, and when I did...”

Duo didn’t have to finish the sentence for me.  I could imagine his rage.  Incandescent and beyond.

“Prepare regular quarters,” I told Hilde.  “Close to ours, if possible.”

“Yeah.  Of course.  The place across the hall is empty.”

“That will do.”

She nodded but hesitated long enough to shoot me a look that begged for something.

I supplied, “This will suffice in the meantime.  Thank you.”

Her grin was bright with relief.  “Sure thing, General.”

“Hey!” Duo objected as she moved to take care of my instructions.  “Do we even know who they are?”

Hilde shrugged.  “Noin seemed to think I – or, rather, _the Silencer –_ already knew.”

“Right,” my husband muttered grimly.  He was about to turn away but stopped and added, “Thanks, Hilde.”

The door shut softly behind her and her happy smile.

“So,” Duo said a little more loudly than necessary, “We’re thinking these are Darlian’s ladies?”

“I don’t know who else they could be.”

“OK.  Well, I’m goin’ in, right?  That’s still the game plan?”

“It is.”  I ran my hand over the tight weave of his hair.  “Call me if you’d like me to join you.”

“Absolutely, babe.”

I saw him out, lingering on the open threshold until he’d paused before the neighboring door and then knocked.

Out of the corner of my eye, movement indicated that one of the women had risen to answer the summons.  As their door had been designed to be opened away from the one I was holding open, I did not bother to shut it completely.

My husband smiled brightly at whoever answered.

“Good morning.  Or, afternoon, I guess.  How are you?  D’you mind if I come in for a sec?  Welcome committee business an’ all.”

“We were expecting the Silencer.”

Duo rocked back on his heels.  “Yup,” he agreed craftily and my admiration for his strategy crested like a tidal wave.

“Oh.  You’re—”

“Not what you expected?  Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“Come in.”

He did.  I allowed the door to close at the same moment theirs did and shifted my attention to the glass.  Duo came less than halfway into the room and stopped.  Not too close to where the second woman stood or too close to the door.  There was plenty of room for the women to retreat if either of them felt threatened.  I watched as both females seemed to shed a measure of tension.

Duo spoke and I realized that I was able to hear him clearly as well as see him.  “So, first off, I’m sorry about the room.  We’re gettin’ a better one ready for you and we’ll get you settled as soon as it’s all set... if ya want.”  He held out the basket of provisions he’d gathered.  “Have you eaten anything today?  I’ve got some flat bread that’s not bad and there’s a little fey wine in here if you want something to take the edge off.  And under this, in the bottom, is some soap, shampoo, and—”

He got no further in his explanation.  The female who had answered the door passed the parcel to the second woman, and then she lunged for my husband.

I tensed and Duo’s eyes went wide as her lips mashed against his still-open mouth.

He flinched back, brought his hands up, and I wrenched the door open.

My snarl echoed in the empty corridor as I tore out of the room and threw open the neighboring portal.  I was across the threshold before the door crashed against the wall and rebounded shut.

The slam of rusty metal.

The pounding of my rage-infused heart.

I flushed with the heat of full bloodlust, bristling and growling, nails and teeth aching for flesh to rend.

My eyes focused on my prey, indifferent to the metal basket and provisions which the second female hurled in my direction.

My husband thrust out an arm toward the projectile and even though it was well out of range and his hand was gloved, the force of the Sicarian sent the bundle crashing against the far wall, denting the basket, smashing the food and sending the metal cask of much-coveted wine tumbling noisily against the concrete floor.

My nose twitched at the scent of broken soap and spilled shampoo in the silence.  My sight narrowed to my companion, who reached his other arm back toward me, pressing his palm against the center of my chest and I belatedly untangled his words from the low, angry timbre of his voice, “—your lucky stars you’re not fey, because if you were, you’d be in pieces right now.”

I bared my teeth in reply to two wide-eyed stares.  The first female shifted, wrapping her arms protectively around the second.  Both returned my glare, defiant.

I thrilled at the implied challenge, more than ready to answer it.

Duo took a step backward – toward me – and my hand gripped the back of his neck, my thumb rubbing against his skin.  For a long moment, no one spoke.  Duo reached for my other hand and interlaced our fingers.  Through his fey gloves, I could feel the ridge of his wedding band, his declaration, and it calmed me enough that I stopped growling and my mouth no longer watered at the thought of these women’s hot blood on my tongue.

Eventually, the one who had trespassed spoke.  “I—you...”  The woman narrowed her eyes at Duo.  “You’re not fey.”

“And thank god for that.”  He informed her, “You try that shit again while you’re here and it’ll be the last thing you do.  Do you understand?”

Her gaze flickered toward me and she nodded.  “Yes.”  Then she regarded my husband and they stared each other down.  Rather than concede, she demanded, “Who are you and what do you want?”

His lips quirked.  “You first,” he feistily retorted.  Her lips tightened – wary and stubborn – and he bristled.  “Hey, lady, you two came to us.  Clearly thinking you were gonna take advantage of the Silencer, which is more than enough reason for me to wash my hands of you.  So come clean or find someplace else to go.”

The silence rang in my ears.

Finally, the second woman spoke, “We have nowhere else to go.”

Before the first woman could do more than stiffen, the second assured her with a touch, rubbing her arm and then patting her shoulder.

“Darlian is missing,” the second woman continued.  “He told us to come here if… when that happened.”

“’When?’  That’s a little pessimistic,” Duo observed.

She clasped hands with the first woman.  “It was only a matter of time.  Charismas are rare.”

“I’ve heard that said,” my companion acknowledged and I sensed that he was processing the same inference that I was: these women knew about the betrothal and had come here to address it.  Use it.

My husband told them, “Like I said, I’m the welcome committee.  If you have something to say to the Silencer, he’ll hear it word-for-word, but you’re not gonna be alone in the same room with him, so don’t even ask.”

Again, Duo played on their assumptions, implying that whoever I was, I wasn’t the Silencer.

The women must not have realized that the fey who had guided them here – Noin’s contact, “Trowa” – was a fey of any importance or influence.  As long as they did not make the connection between “Trowa” and “the Silencer” or “the general,” I was safe from their scheming.

A chill skittered down my spine; Duo had saved me from the most heinous assault that could be forced upon a fey by a human.

The woman with her hair pulled back – the one who had kissed my husband – said, “Darlian has an agreement with the Silencer.”

“I’m aware of that,” Duo retorted flatly.  “And I get it.  I do.  You’re just trying to protect your... interests.”  His gaze moved to the second woman and back again.  “So let’s start with the basics.  What do you call yourselves and what can we do for you?”

The first woman said, “Relena and Mareen.”

“Duo,” my husband volunteered, gesturing lazily to himself.  “And I’m still waiting for the punchline, ladies.”

“The betrothal—”

“Is off the table.”

“Then… we have nothing to discuss.”

“Why’s that?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why do you assume it’s all or nuthin’?  Look, I don’t know what side you’re on or wanna be on in this whole thing, but I’m on the side where fey don’t have to grovel to masters and humans don’t end up as lunchmeat.”  

I sucked in a breath.  What was he saying?  Duo couldn’t be honestly committing himself to—no.  No, of course not.  He was simply saying what needed to be said to gain their cooperation.

“There are a shit-ton of details to work out,” he continued, more subdued, “and, yeah, that’s where a charisma – someone impartial who wants the best for both fey and humans – would be damn welcome.  ‘Cause, y’know, the fey?  They could use a friend who’s got an eye on the big picture.  So, endgame.  There ya go.”  Duo turned around and gave me a wan smile.  “C’mon, babe.  Relena and Mareen probably want to confer and shit.  Sort out their game plan.”

“Wait!”

Duo paused.  I stepped up behind him, close enough that if I took a deep breath, my chest would connect with his shoulder.

“What are our other options?”

“Well, there are the masters of the dells – except for Khushrenada, Septum, Tsuberov, and Dermail.  Those guys are, um, no longer available.  There’s also Quatre Winner, he’s got the dell in Boston and a plan of his own for the fey.  The clans, they’re anti-fey, but the New York group might be coming around to working with us.  The council is—well, we need a new one, since we don’t have one anymore.”  He bit his lip.  Chewed it.  “That’s all I’ve got.  Trust it or don’t.  But you can bet it’s a mess.”

“Thank you.  For you honesty,” the one with her hair atop her head said and I wondered how she could tell that my husband had spoken the truth.

“Anytime.  Just let us know what you decide to do.”

“You won’t be watching?” the first woman asked sharply, tilting her head meaningfully toward the window.

“We won’t, no,” Duo promised.  “If you wanna wait for that other room I mentioned, that’s cool.”

She lifted her brows in disbelief.  “And you expect us to believe that you won’t be watching us there as well?”

“I don’t give a shit what you believe.  We’ve got other shit going on, OK?  You wanna stay, fine.  We’ll do what we can to keep you safe so you can make up your own damn mind about which side you wanna be on.”

“And risk that we choose one that opposes yours?”

“Look, I’m not gonna pretend that I’ve got it all figured out.  Let me know what you come up with, though.  Maybe I’ll be a fan,” he said with an easy shrug.  I could hear the self-depreciating smile in his tone.

“Why should we want you on our side?” the more aggressive and wary of the human females queried.

Duo looked at me, his expression silent and grave and I understood.  I understood how naïve we had been to hope we could simply eliminate the threat and withdraw into the shadows, safe and anonymous.  I could see the realization in him, the anger, the fear.

“To tell you the truth,” Duo responded after a long moment during which he and I said both nothing and everything.  “To tell you the truth, I don’t really want to be on any side.”  He gave the women a long look.  “If the fey and the clans don’t know much about you, then you should seriously think about keeping it that way.  But, either way, it should be up to you.  I hope—I hope it’s up to you because I know what it’s like to not be given a choice.”

And then Duo pulled me from the room before they could demand more of our time.  Time that suddenly felt in short supply.  The door squealed shut and I couldn’t bear another moment without Duo’s arms around me.  My fingers twisted in the back of his tunic collar but he was already moving in.  I leaned back against the door and buried my face against his neck, pulling him so close I could feel the jumpsuit snaps press into my flesh.  His fingers curled tightly in the shoulders.  Desperate.  Needy.  Frightened.  We echoed each other.

“The Sicarian,” Duo said, his lips moving against my shoulder.  “Just full of surprises, innit?”

Very satisfying surprises.

“I just keep digging this rabbit hole deeper, don’t I?”  He sighed heavily.  “Shit, Tro.  How the hell am I ever gonna—I mean—is it even possible to get rid of this shit or am I already in too deep?”

He wasn’t just talking about the Sicarian, but I didn’t have an answer for him on either subject.  All I could do was hold on, so I did.

“Hey,” he just about shouted, startling my arms loose and his sudden tension pushed him away from me.  “The philosophers.  They’re around here somewhere, right?”

I answered his eager expression with a sigh.

“We’ve got time to kill,” he argued persuasively.  “I might as well…”

“Not alone.”

He huffed out a laugh.  “Oh, no. I definitely have to go alone.  They won’t underestimate __you.”__

Duo could probably hear the slow grind of my teeth as I struggled for calm.  “Enter into no bargains with them.”

“No bargains,” he repeated dutifully.

“Agree to nothing.”

“OK.”

I was still unhappy with this but I steered him back to the comm. room where Heero and Sylvia were still monitoring the results of last night’s email messages.

“Tell me about the room that the philosophers are using.  Is there an observation window?”

There wasn’t.  I demanded a recording device with a wireless earpiece.  Heero readily supplied one – a little too readily in my opinion – and Duo held still while I taped the microphone to the skin over his chest.  The cut of his tunic would conceal the actual recorder at the center of his back.  Duo gently tucked the receiver into my left ear.  He cleared his throat and gave me a “testing… one, Duo, Trowa…” and then it was time for the long walk.  Which was all too short.

“Duo...”  I wanted to be the one dealing with the philosophers.  Given their trespasses against my mind, I felt I was owed a few moments alone with them.

Duo looked away from the closed door he was contemplating and up at me, brows lifting in question.  “What?  We talked about this.  I’m good.”

“I know you are.”  I, on the other hand, was not.

“Look, babe, the Sicarian is my mess.  If there’s any information to be had at all on this, a couple of wily old coots like G and J aren’t gonna give up the goods to someone they think can outsmart ‘em.”

“Take care,” I whispered.

“Babe.  You saw me handle Quatre.  I’ve got this.”

My fingertips brushed over the side of his face.  “I will be right here.”

He reached up to check my earpiece once more.  “I know.”

Then Duo grabbed the door latch and cranked it open.  The portal gave way with an ear-splitting screech.

“Yo!” he called, pushing the door open just enough to reveal a hint of a well-lit and fastidiously organized laboratory.  “You got a visitor.”

“Duo Maxwell.  We were wondering when you’d be by.”

“So nice to see you, too, Professor G.”

The door shut behind him and I was forced to settle for his narration and whatever noises the microphone was able to pick up.

A wheezing chuckle announced the room’s other occupant.  “Shinigami,” Doctor J mused happily from a distance, “I don’t suppose you’re here to share new and exciting developments with us?”

There were certainly several developments he could share.  Would probably have to if he wanted a diagnosis that was even remotely accurate.  Assuming the philosophers were genuinely interested in helping him, which was the first thing Duo would have to confirm.

“Tell ya what,” he bargained and I very nearly ripped the door off of its hinges to yank him out of there, “you tell me yours, I’ll tell ya mine.”

“Intriguing,” G remarked. 

J added, “I concur.  What would you like to know, young destroyer?” 

There was a pause during which I was sure Duo was silently objecting to the form of address.  “You said you’ve been expecting the Sicarian for years.” 

“Oh, yes,” J agreed. 

“Tell me everything you know—or have heard,” he hastily added and then included a third point, “ _ _or__  thought possible about it.” 

“Something unexpected has happened,” G pompously discerned and J squealed excitedly.

“Jesus fried a chicken,” I heard Duo mutter under his breath and the corner of my mouth quirked.  “Well, you won’t find out what that might be unless you two start talking.”

“Mortals are so impatient,” G groused, sounding preoccupied.

“Now, now, I thought we decided that it was all part of their charm.”

G snorted.  “You attempted to convince me.  If you’ll remember, I was placating you.” 

“No, no.  I distinctly remember you bringing it up without any prompting from me whatsoever and saying, and I quote, ‘Human mortality adds an interesting dimension to their behavioral traits.’” 

“I only said that so you’d let me threaten to kill the next one.  It’s unfair for you to have all the fun.” 

Duo cut in, tone strained with thinning patience, “Hey, I didn’t come here to listen to you jerks argue over who has the bigger torture fetish.  Y’know what?  Screw this.  I’ll see ya sometime never, then.”

“Wait!” J pleaded.

“Nope.  Y’all squandered your chance.  It’s the Silencer’s turn now and he’s got a feykin.  Have fun screaming.”

“That is utterly underhanded,” G clearly admired.

“In more ways than one,” Duo pointed out and I felt myself smirk at the reminder of the intended use of the weapon.

J cooperated: “I don’t suppose you’ve been having hallucinations or cravings for destruction and mayhem?”

My husband said nothing.  Simply waited for additional options to be listed.

J continued, “Sudden magical turbulence?  Hot flashes?”

Duo maintained his silence.

“We won’t be able to assist you if you refuse to be candid with us,” G barked, easily as impatient as any human.

“Oh, I’m sorry if I’m less than impressed by your _wild guessing.”_

“It’s not guessing,” G tartly informed him, clearly taking exception.

J added, “The methods which created the Sicarian are a science, lad.”

“A magic science?” he scoffed.

“The science of magic,” J corrected.  “In fact, I’d be willing to bet that there’s a good deal of scarring on your person, yes?  Fey runes.”

Duo had no fey scars, but I did.  And I remembered when Duo had confessed to feeling them pulsing inside his own skin.  Perhaps there was something to this.  I was certain Duo was thinking the same thing, but he pretended otherwise.

“Not a single mark on me, guys.  And you’re gonna have to take my word for it.”

“Ignorant human,” G sneered.  “They’d be on the inside of you.  Branded onto you through your consort when you either performed the declaration or shared magic.”

“Or both,” J pointed out.

“Yes, yes.  Or both.”

“If we could take a look at your consort’s scars, we could be sure.”

“Sure of what?” he probed, clearly not liking the philosopher’s opportunistic enthusiasm.

“Of what you wish to know, of course,” J replied easily.

Duo snorted.  “What a crock of shit.  You two just want a new toy to screw around with.  The answer to that, by the way, is ‘no way in hell.’”

I heard the scuff of boot tread as Duo turned to leave.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” J wheedled.  A soft clanking sound – he was idly clicking his metal fingers together.

“A bargain is a bargain,” G interjected solemnly.

“It sure is.  And I’ll be just as vague and evasive as you jerkwads.”  I heard Duo’s smile.  “I can do weird shit.”

“We were far more clear in our offerings.”

“Um, no.  You weren’t.  Bye.”

“Oh, all right!” G snarled.  “Full disclosure, agreed?”

I prayed that Duo would not be careless enough to agree to any such thing.  “Age before beauty,” he replied after a long pause and I nearly gasped with relief at his masterful wording.

Whether or not the philosophers were satisfied with that, I couldn’t be sure, but J started talking: “Many centuries ago, all five of us came together to combine our knowledge of the fey runes for the betterment of our kind.”

“An investment in the future.”

“The masters were gaining true power over our brethren—”

“Inexcusable excesses!”

“—so we created a weapon that would render the power balance equal once again.”

“We call it Zero.”

“Not relevant, G,” Doctor J pleasantly reprimanded him.  "The point is that we have some experience with ‘improving’ fey.  If we were permitted to examine your consort’s scars in detail, we may be able to share the identity of who is responsible for their creation.”

“Uh-huh,” Duo mused.  “And this helps me how?”

“Moron!” G muttered through his teeth.

J’s prosthetic hand whirred and the fingers clicked with irritation.  “If you so desperately desire to be normal—”  He sneered the word.  “—then that particular philosopher would be the one to assist you.”

“Right.  And of course I can trust you to give up the correct name.”

Their silence was telling.  My companion had surprised them.

“You two wanna sic me on the masters, though, doncha?  Too bad the only guy I have an ax to grind with is Quatre Winner.”

Again, silence.

“But here’s your chance to win me over to your side,” he invited.  “What was the fey world like before the masters started fucking with it?”

“Fair,” G summarized.

“The dells were inhabited by kinsfolk, fey who were bound to each other through favors and debts.”

“The masters resided nowhere near an entrance to the human world.”

“Fey wishing to summon their fallen kinsibling would supply the human sacrifice for the ritual, share in the feast, and one of their number would remain to serve the masters for a year and a day as payment.”

“How come it changed?” Duo asked.

“Unimaginative as well,” G groused, enjoying my husband’s apparent shortcomings far too much.

J replied, “All it took was one.  When the council of masters refused to summon a fey who had been far too fearsome and dangerous, there was one master who agreed to do it in exchange for a dell of his own.”

“Who?” my companion pressed.  “Tell me their names.”

“The master was Treize.”

“The fey was the Silencer.”

My breath caught in my chest.

Duo released it for me.  “That’s a lie.  The fey was Quatre.”

They didn’t refute him.  Perhaps they were too shocked.  I certainly was.  Not because Duo’s assertion made no sense but because it did.  Treize and Quatre were summoner and summoned.  It was perfectly logical.

Winner was a product of the philosophers, a weapon against the masters.  Their ultimate aim – Zero’s aim – was a return to the old ways.  But Treize, as his summoner, would be owed Quatre’s  allegiance.  Therefore, Quatre had been forced to eliminate his master creatively.  He’d revealed Duo’s location, setting events in motion that would eventually lead to the emergence of the Sicarian, and Treize’s own obsession with it would lead to his death.

It was no wonder Quatre had relented when Duo had indicated his desire to stay in Boston.  That was all Quatre had wanted: knowledge of his location.  With that one piece of information, he’d been able to eliminate his greatest threat, the one fey he couldn’t control himself because of the contract between summoner and summoned.

For the first time, I was thankful for my own banishment; it had severed that tie between me and the master who had brought “Trowa” back to the corporeal realms.  But that didn’t mean I was free of other influences.  My scars proved that there was more than one side with an investment in this fight.  When I had been un-named and re-made and then summoned... it had all be part of a larger plan.  The scars from the punishments I’d been given for helping a very young Duo years ago – they were deliberate.  The runes carved into my skin had somehow been transferred to Duo, making him into the weapon he was now.

With that in mind, the motivations of Instructor G and Doctor J were far more specific than idle curiosity.  It was entirely possible that they had no use for the Sicarian now that Treize had been destroyed.  Now, Duo was the only thing standing between Zero – their creation – and a unified fey empire.

Professor G and Doctor J were loyal to Quatre Winner.

“Deal’s off,” Duo told them.  He sounded disgusted but unsurprised that they’d tried to cheat him.  “And the game is over.”

This time when he headed for the exit, he didn’t stop.  He shoved his way into the hall, slamming the door shut behind him and stalking toward me.  For a moment, I thought he was going to march right past me, let his anger carry him off on a campaign of vengeance.

I should have known better.

“Did you get all that?” he asked through gritted teeth.

I nodded.  “As did Heero and Sylvia.”  The latter of which would undoubtedly already be formulating a strategy for dealing with these traitors.  In the most advantageous way possible.

“Yeah.”  He said into the mic as he turned and gestured for me to shut off the recording device.  He crossed his arms while I worked, glaring at the closed portal.  As I finished detaching the recorder from his skin and slipped it into one of my jumpsuit’s many pockets, he suddenly snorted with mirth.  I leaned forward to get a glimpse of his expression and he angled himself toward me.  The cocky grin was unexpected and completely charming.  “See?  I can be totally—oomph!”

I pulled him into my arms, tightening my hold until the breath whooshed out of him.

“Brilliant,” I purred.  I was so proud of him.  A whole new kind of ache burst open from deep inside my chest.  For him.

He was smiling widely when I leaned back, framed his face in my hands and took his mouth in a deep kiss.  His hands went to my hair.  His fingers fisted and I whimpered as he tugged on the strands.  He mewled against my tongue.  Ah, save me.  I needed him – had to have him – right here, right now.

He pulled away.  “Stop, baby.  Please.  We gotta—hnng, fuck, stop with the licking dammit—we gotta talk about this.”

“Talk?  About licking?  All right,” I conceded, sipping his earlobe in between my lips for a wet tug.  He grabbed the front of my jumpsuit and I felt a shove.  I didn’t – couldn’t – resist Duo’s efforts to maneuver me out of the main corridor and into an alcove.  It was dark, dingy, and perfectly cramped.

I could feel the heat from Duo’s hands as he grabbed my hips and then smoothed a palm to the front of my trousers.

“Holy hell, you’re hard, baby.”

I whined against his soft neck.

“You like it when I outsmart other fey?”

I did.  Very much so.

He chuckled at my vigorous nod, nipped at the skin above my collar, and reached for the snaps on my jumpsuit.  I didn’t stop him.  Would never stop him from giving me pleasure.  At the banquet, if he had slid from his seat, tugged the torn silk down my hips, and drawn me into his luscious mouth, I wouldn’t have stopped him.  Audience or no.

But here, in this quiet corridor, it was just us.  Duo pushed my clothing aside.  He caught my gaze as he slid to his knees between my thighs, and I watched him take me in.   _Ahhh, yes, please, Duo!_

I grabbed for his head as he clutched my hips and __ahh,__  he was so very good at this.  Knew just how much pressure would make me pant, how deep he could have me before I had to struggle to breathe, how gently to caress the parts that ached for his touch.

He drew back.  Licked long and slow.  A wet kiss.  A brief moment of suction.

My fingers curled into his braid.

I shifted my legs even wider and he hummed in approval, ducking beneath my arousal to—

 _Ahh!_  I bit my tongue as his mouth charted my flushed skin.  Wound my need so tight I was sure I was a touch away from shattering.  And then his luscious mouth was back, drawing me into him, bringing me home inside his very being.  The pleasure was too much.  The bliss—his power and my power—“Duo!” I gasped in warning.

And then I was surging over his tongue, thrusting deep into his mouth, coming in his throat as he hummed and clutched fistfuls of trouser fabric, dragging me even closer.

I slumped back against the rough concrete and petted his hair, the back of his neck, his cheeks.  My companion, my husband, my lover.  I would die every day until the end of the universe for him.

He eased back gently and I tugged on his wrists, pulling him to his feet and into my arms.  I could feel his arousal against my thigh.

“I want you to fuck me later,” I breathed into his ear and felt him swell even further against my leg.

“Whatever you want, baby.”

Including this.  This moment of feeling his need for me.  Knowing that he wanted me was such an exquisite gift.  Knowing that he’d wait if I asked him to, knowing that he’d pleasure me however I wished him to, knowing he trusted and treasured me that much.  Asking him to postpone his own completion had nothing to do with his performance, but how could I tell him what it meant to me without him thinking I enjoyed controlling him?

So I said nothing.  My body – our embrace – would have to speak for me.

Many, many minutes later, he asked, “D’you think what they said about the kins and masters could be true?”

“The only way to know for sure is to ask someone else who was there.”

“Who doesn’t have an agenda,” he added unnecessarily.  He looked up at me.  “How come Master O never said anything about your scars?  Or did he?”

I shook my head.

“Do you think... I mean, if un-making is an option...?”

I pulled him closer and pressed my lips to the center of his forehead.  The thought of it, of letting some other fey experiment on him, was unendurable.  And the thought of the procedure succeeding was enough to make my heart pound with terror.  The masters knew what he was.  The resistance now knew what he was.  If he was no longer the Sicarian, how would I ever be able to protect him?  “I cannot risk you, Duo.”

He nodded.  “I won’t think about it again unless we get information we can trust.”

“Duo,” I breathed, “that may never happen.”

“Then I’ll think about it never.”

My soft groan reached his ear and went no further.  His arms tightened around my waist and I marveled.  He would give up the chance to be normal again – would abandon the hope of living as an unremarkable man – if I needed it.  And I did.  I needed him to be the Sicarian.  I needed him to be strong and deadly and capable.  I needed him to be a weapon, even though he saw it as a curse rather than a gift.

I massaged his scalp, pressed a kiss to his temple, and tilted my cheek against the crown of his head.  Being the Silencer was rather annoying.  I missed being closer in height and weight to my husband.  Perhaps just for a few minutes, I could be his fey boy again.  Just—

“Tro?  You OK?” he checked, shifting and meeting my gaze as I drew a deep breath to begin the shift.

And then he stiffened.

Footsteps.  Running footsteps.

We glanced up as a frantic-looking Hilde overshot our shadowy nook.

 _Don’t slow down,_ I prayed, hoping she hadn’t seen us.

But she had.  She scrambled to a halt just a few steps down the corridor.  “Sir!  General!”

_No, please.  Not now.  Not ever.  Just go away._

Duo eased himself off of me, quickly refastening the snaps on my clothing as Hilde backtracked to our position.  He’d just dropped his hands and I’d straightened to the Silencer’s full height when she stopped in front of us.  

“What is it?” I demanded.

“Noin’s made it in and she really needs to speak to you.”

“Show me.”

I grabbed Duo’s hand as Hilde led us to a hall that was close to yet another entrance to the base.  One that was located in the storeroom of a hardware store.  A shop that was owned by fey and operated by oblivious humans.

“Did the staff see her?”

Hilde shook her head.  “The shop is closed today.  No one should be there.”

“Good.”

The door swung open with a shuddering groan and I stared hard at Noin.

She gaped at Duo and myself.  “Oh, no.  It is true,” she breathed.  “You are both here.”

Duo tensed.

“Hilde,” I began.

“I gotcha covered, sir,” she promised and posted herself on the metal landing outside, drawing the metal door shut behind her.

“Silencer,” Noin began, “sir, I’m not sure if you know—Quatre knows.  He received a transmission from someone inside the resistance.  He knows you and the Sicarian are both here.  And,” she braced herself before continuing, “he knows I’ve brought a charisma.”

Of course he knew.  G and J had informed him of our presence.  I hadn’t forgotten that they’d intruded upon us at the Silencer’s rooms.  They’d done so not to deliver a message of any importance, but to confirm our presence themselves.  Quatre had probably been standing by for their communication.  And then he’d calculated how to get Noin to reveal the identity of Darlian’s daughter.

The Silencer.

The Sicarian.

A charisma.

The main force of the resistance.

All now resided in one convenient place.  We could not have planned a more tempting target.

Noin said, “I’m sorry.  In allowing me entrance, you’ve delayed my death, but guaranteed Quatre’s next move.  He is on his way.  His forces will attack.  Imminently.  I understand if you must confirm this.”

There was only one possible way to get the truth out of a fey aside from a formal vow or having its companion present.  I drew the feykin from my belt and advanced on Noin.

She did not retreat, did not resist, not even when I grabbed her throat in one hand and angled the tip of the blade between her ribs.  Between one heartbeat and the next, she would be in agony.  An agony only I could take away… if she told me the truth.

“Look at me,” I commanded and she did.  I saw her flinch when the pointed tip poked through the weave of her garments and prodded her unprotected skin.  She waited for me to begin the interrogation and did not look away.

“You are aware that the Sicarian is real?” I asked, poised to slide the blade deep.

“Yes,” she gasped on a thread of sound.

I held her a moment longer and then I released her undamaged.  “You will wait here until called for.  You will not communicate anything regarding the human females you led here to anyone except me.”

“Yes, sir.”

As I passed, I tugged on the hem of Duo’s jacket and he followed me outside.  Silent, but not blind or deaf to what he had just seen and heard.

I assigned Hilde to launch control.  “Get it ready.  Tell Heero and Sylvia only.”

“Yes, sir,” she promised, moving with satisfying speed to complete those tasks.

I wrapped an arm around Duo, belatedly wondering why he didn’t flinch from me, from the way of things here.  The blades and blood.  “What are you thinking?” I asked him quietly as we made our way back to the Silencer’s rooms.

“That it’s no wonder those old farts had been so happy to be guests of the resistance,” he muttered.  “There’s no telling how much they’ve told Quatre about this place.”

The betrayal stung, but it was not completely unexpected.  “We will counter this,” I vowed softly.

Duo merely nodded, but I could see that he was bursting to speak his mind.  He waited until the door slammed shut behind us and I’d scanned my palm.

“So, Mareen and Relena?” he began.  “That’s who the launch is for?”

“If they wish to leave, they may,” I answered through my teeth.  I grabbed for the nearest plastic bag and began filling it with Duo’s ID.  His clothing.  That and no more.

“No,” he breathed as he watched me leave my own things untouched.  “No way in fucking hell, Trowa.”

Ahh, my companion.  Didn’t he understand how much harder this was for me than for him?

I lowered myself to the bed, seated myself on the edge, and held out a hand to him.  “Please, Duo.”

With reluctance, he stepped closer and took it.  “You can’t make me do this,” he informed me, his voice sharp with fear.

I was aware of that.  There was nothing that I could ever force Duo to do.  I could manipulate him, yes, and I could lose his trust and respect.  He’d asked me to give him a choice and I would try.  He’d promised to be reasonable.  Now we would find out if he could keep that vow.

I pulled him into my arms and he moved to straddle my lap.  “I need you to leave.”

His jaw clenched.

“Go with Mareen and Relena.  Don’t tell me where.  Take them out of here.”

“And leave you?  Here?  Alone?   _With Quatre fucking Winner on the verge of breaking down the damn door?  ARE YOU INSANE?”_

I reached for his face, cradling his taut jawline gently.  I brushed my thumbs over his cheeks.  Ahh, his rage—it was all for me and I wanted to revel in it.  But there was also sorrow and fear, and those things I could not bear to see in his eyes.  I pulled him close, embracing him so tightly that I actually heard a couple of his ribs pop.  He himself did not make a sound.

“Please.  It’s the only way I can keep you safe.”

“No, it’s not,” he gritted out.  “You can damn well come with me.”

I sighed.  “We can’t be caught together.  Duo, is there anything you wouldn’t do to protect me from Quatre?”

“No.”

“That is why we have to do this.”

I was sure he understood the necessity of our separation, but I was unsurprised by his resistance.

“No.  No way.  Jesus fucking—the whole episode with Treize was bad enough – for _both_  of us – there’s no way we’ll make it through another however-long of __that.__   Again.  I mean—how am I even gonna know if you’re ali—all right?”

 _Ahh._  He _needed_ me.  He needed _me._   Why had it taken this moment for me to see it?  The realization burned me from the inside as if the power of the Sicarian had somehow bypassed my skin and was destroying me from within.  I held him for a moment, not because I needed time to think, but because I needed to gather my courage.

“Tro.  C’mon, baby.  We gotta be together.  There’s no other way.”

I was nearly persuaded.  I wanted to be persuaded.  But he was wrong.  There was one other way for us to remain connected despite the distance.  It was a risk, yes, but given the strength of his power and mine, given that Duo was as directly connected to the source of magic as I was, perhaps we would be able to manage it.

“There is another way,” I told him, shifting to reach into my trouser pocket.  “With this.”  

I held up the wedding band Duo had given me.  The silver gleamed, grinning in the light from the workstation lamp.

He sat back.  “But you said…”

“It will always be a risk, but you’re strong and so am I.”

“Wait.  What about your scars—?” he suggested hopefully.

“All I can do is send you pain.  Over short distances.”

“Tro…” he agonized.  Bit his lip.  Tensed until he could have been made of stone.

I waited.  Bled with him.  Wounds that remained sealed beneath our skin.

“What if it works in all the worst ways?”

I vowed, “I will remove it.  One way or another.”

“Even if it means chopping off your own finger.”  He shook his head when I didn’t correct the assumption.

“Quatre’s forces may be coming for a battle or a siege.  Perhaps both.  Any calls or emails will be traced eventually.”  Just as Heero was tracing the recipients of Duo’s email.

“You bastard,” Duo growled.  His hand tightened on my shoulders, but he didn’t shove me away from him.  “You knew Winner was gonna track that fucking email.   _ _My__ email.  That was why you had me run through that fucking submarine simulator program.  This – me leaving – it’s always been the plan.  Hasn’t it?”  When I didn’t summon a response immediately, he shook me and his eyes flashed silver.   _“Hasn’t it?”_

“Yes.  Solo never would have agreed otherwise.”

“You—!  Both of you just—!”

“Duo,” I begged.  “Let me keep you safe.  If you are safe, nothing can harm me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut.  Opened them.  Shook his head.  “Of the two of us, I’m the harder to kill.  You should be the one to go.”

“Where?  Where would I go?  You are the Sicarian.”  Doors could and would open for him – masters, clan, rogue fey – that would mean certain death for me.  Or worse.  “Here, in the resistance, there are hundreds of fey who will fight at my side.  I won’t be alone.”

“Fuck,” he swore, looking away as his eyes gleamed with moisture.  His hands dropped to his thighs, curled into fists.  “I’ll stop Quatre,” he swore on a choked breath.

“I know you will.”

But we both knew he would not be able to do it from here.

He stared at me, and I at him.  I did not attempt to conceal my misery or ignore his.  The pain – his and mine – united us in that moment and he relented.  He reached out and wrapped his fingers around my fist – around the wedding ring within – and kissed me softly.

“If this is what you need,” he mouthed and my sight turned blurry, “I won’t try to stop you.”

My right hand flexed in his hair and then I withdrew.  He leaned back far enough so I could fit my hands in the space between our chests.  We both watched as I positioned the silver band over my left ring finger.

Or gazes met.  The metal shone as I pushed it over the first knuckle.  It caught on the second and for a moment I wondered if I’d have to age shift, but then, with a decisive twist, it slid over the bone and into place.

I held my breath.  Waited for something – anything – to happen.

But nothing did.

“Should we, um, test it?” Duo asked.  But as soon as the words were said, he answered his own question—“There’s no time.”

I pulled him close again and whispered the three words – the realization – that still filled me with wonder, “I love you.”

He clenched his jaw.  Resisting again.  Knowing as well as I did that there was nothing left for us to say to each other except our farewells.

“Please, Duo.”

“I can’t.”

I pressed my forehead to his.  “We can,” I promised.  “We can do this.  You can do this.”

He lowered his forehead to my shoulder and wrapped me up so tightly in his arms that I couldn’t feel the size and strength difference between us at all.  I held on to him.  I believed in him.  I loved him.

The silver wedding band felt warm yet light upon my finger.  Duo’s left hand twitched and I wondered if his was behaving similarly.  Wondered if it would be a genuine help to us or our downfall.

Or if it would do nothing at all.

I turned toward his lips and kissed him until there was a soft knock upon the door, at which time I slipped on a pair of fingerless gloves.

“It’s ready, sir,” Hilde reported and I sent her to bring Noin to the meeting room for a full debriefing.

Duo clutched my hand hard, holding fast when I would have moved over the threshold.  I followed his gaze and looked at the photograph of Heero, Cathy, and the Silencer.

“You’re not him,” Duo told me.  “You’re better.  So don’t—don’t question yourself.  OK?  You’re a better general than he ever was.”

How could it be possible to love him even more than I already did?  But the pleasure and pain of it was undeniable.

I lifted my captured hand to his chin and brushed my lips against his in thanks.  He took the plastic bag from me and we left in silence.

Duo didn’t bother to let go of my hand as he delivered our ultimatum to Relena and Mareen: “Quatre’s on his way.  We can get you out of here now – right now – or you can stay until there’s a victor. What’s it gonna be?”

They exchanged a look and then both women stood and gathered their things.  They followed us to the launch bay.

We reached the hangar doors without incident.  Most of the fey were already at their posts above ground, awaiting orders from me and the arrival of our enemies, so the corridors were empty.  We took the stairs down to the bay where a single, smallish, grey submarine bobbed on the surface of the water.  The roar of the falls was just audible through the wall of rock.

“The launch sequence is automated,” I assured him.  But if something went wrong, he would know what to do.

“Sir, we’re ready to get under way.”

We both looked up at Sylvia.  She was standing at the top hatch.  I froze and considered this development.  Considered how desperate Heero was to protect his companion.  Considered how large a debt she owed Duo for saving Heero’s life.  Yes, we could trust her.

I nodded.  She called to the women and invited them to come aboard.  “Watch your head,” she advised, holding out a hand to the first female and then the second.  Sylvia gave me a smile before she ducked back down into the craft.

I turned toward my husband.  Stared at him in silence.  And then I started to age shift.  From thirty-five to thirty… twenty-five… twenty… eighteen.

I reached out and tweaked the hem of his tunic.  A single tiny tug and it broke through his blank, wide-eyed expression.  I gasped in abject delight as he threw his arms around me.

“Trowa.  Baby.”

“My Duo.”

“I love you, too.”

A kiss.  A sniffle, his and then mine.  Hands fisting in the fabric of a jumpsuit that was far too large on my slender frame.  Slick fey-fabric beneath my palms as I sought a handhold.  A moment.  Just a short minute of normalcy to anyone else, but it was the most devastating instant in my known memory.

“I’m not gonna let you down,” he promised.

“I’ll be with you,” I swore.  And then I needed him to go.  I needed him to let go and walk away while I was still strong enough to let him.

With a shuddering breath, he did.  I stood on the dock and watched him climb aboard, swing his legs down onto the ladder, and then pause.  Look up.  Look back at me as I forced myself to remain right where I was.  Still eighteen and in a too-large jumpsuit.  Still wearing the silver ring he had bought for me, an expression of his unending declaration carefully concealed beneath a pair of the Silencer’s gloves.  Still loving him, believing in him, trusting him, protecting him.

What words existed that could do justice to this moment?  Whatever they were, I did not know them.

Our gazes held as Duo lowered himself down the ladder until he was out of sight.  The hatch closed.  Locked.  The launch sequence began.  Sirens and flashing lights.  I remained just as I was until the ship submerged… and was gone.

I did not require Hilde’s presence to remind me that I was needed elsewhere.  I age shifted once more, became the general once more, and headed for the stairs.  I would be with Duo again when this was done, when Quatre was finished.

Magic crackled over my body, sharpening my teeth and nails, raising the hair at the back of my neck.  Quatre had come for a fight, and I was more than willing to give it to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, encouraging comments are my life's blood. I treasure and build shrines to EACH AND EVERY ONE. Truth.
> 
> Also, there's commissioned artwork by t_shirt1x2 (on LiveJournal) // Sarasan (on Patreon) // t0shirt (on Deviant Art) 
> 
> If you didn't see it embedded in the story, you can ogle it HERE: themanwell.livejournal.com/65423.html


	5. The Battle at Niagara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solo’s theme music: “Waiting For The End” by Linkin Park
> 
> Quatre’s theme music (FYI) : “Burning In The Skies” by Linkin Park 
> 
> Actually, just about everything on Linkin Park's album "A Thousand Suns" could be on the soundtrack for the remainder of this fic.

“Stop making that face.”

I glared at Chang from across the table.  “What face?” I bitched.  Yeah, yeah, I was making one – I could damn well feel it – but like hell he’d actually pried his nose outta that dumb book long enough to see it.  The New York clan archives were so damn silent I could hear him _breathe._  I would have noticed if he’d actually looked in my direction.

“Your brother is fine,” he insisted rather than actually answer the question.  “The fey will give his life to keep him safe.”

Given that Trowa was some kind of legendary healer and was pretty damn near indestructible, Chang’s comment was supposed to make me feel better.  As if I could feel anything but a sense of doom about letting Duo take off for parts unknown with his amnesiac husband who, despite his impressive healing abilities, _had_ been killed at least once before.

“That’d be a lot more reassuring if the London Clan didn’t have his head in their fucking archive.”

Chang shrugged.  “I won’t argue the point.  But I’d advise a laxative before you explode.”

“Fuck you.”

One of his prissy, thin eyebrows arched.  “Are you offering?”

“Are you interested?” I snarked back.

“At the moment, I’d rather finish this section.”

“Outdone by a book.  I’m so hurt.”

“It is a very good book.”

I opened my mouth to tell him exactly how I thought I’d measure up—

“Don’t say it,” Chang warned.

My jaw snapped shut.

He smirked.  “You’ll just get my hopes up only to disappoint.”

“Hey.  I’ve never disappointed when it counted.”

“How nice that Alexandra Mitchel hadn’t counted.”

Holy hellfire.  He remembered the name of my first hook-up?  “Not when she told everyone I was taking her to the fall formal when she knew I wasn’t fucking going.  And stop being such a chicken shit.  Look me in the eye when you insult me, asshole.”

He exhaled tiredly, declining to meet my challenge.  “I look forward to reuniting you with your brother.  It’s getting tiresome being the sole recipient of your uninventive name-calling.”

I noticed he hadn’t denied the accuracy, though.  “What can I say?  You’ve earned every word.  Credit where it’s due.”

He shook his head and offered no comment.  I scowled down at the volume I’d paused in the middle of thumbing through.  Damn Chang and his endless research.  If it weren’t so relevant, I would have told him to shove it, but we didn’t know a single thing about my little brother’s fey husband except for what we’d been told by other fey.  And we didn’t have anything better to do with our time.  So here we were, holed up in the New York Clan library, goin’ on hour number frickin’ nine-thousand of scouring ancient texts for any reference we could find to a nameless fey who was known as the Silencer, Nanashi, or Nameless.  Or simply a general or leader of the fey resistance.

Fucking hellfire, I’d take anything on any of the fey names I knew.  Especially Cat the Wiener.  Why hadn’t Master O told me there were so many fucking fey in the world?  It was starting to feel like I was combing through the Book of Genesis.

Man, did I wish O were here, but after dropping us off, the little white car had grumbled on its way in a cloud of blue, burning-oil smoke.

We all had a job to do.  And I was gettin’ real tired of killing time while I waited for the green light.

“I can’t promise anything,” Sally had told us after we’d arrived, a process which had taken way too damn long in and of itself: a phone call from a payphone near some seemingly-random subway station followed by a meet-and-greet at a McDonald’s and then a train ride and finally a bonafide door – complete with New York’s finest graffiti – that had led to a checkpoint and screening.  It was a damn good thing we’d grabbed some chow at Mickey D’s because it’d been almost midnight before we actually got to talk to someone.  Thank God that person had been Sally Po.

“Given what my uncle put you and your brother through, well, let’s just say clan leadership is in flux right now.  You know I want to help you, but we’re going to have to wait until we have proof that something’s happening before the assembly will act.”

“So, more bureaucratic red tape.  That’s what you’re telling me,” I’d summed up.

“I trust that you believe what you’re telling me, but situations change.  When was the last time you had contact from either Trowa or Duo?”

“I get what you’re saying.  Don’t mean I gotta like it.”

“Neither do I,” she’d commiserated.  “You and Chang are both welcome here.  Make yourselves at home until we have confirmed movement.”

So, that’s what we were doing.  Or what Chang was doing.  I would have been more at home in the gym, to be honest, but after being stuck under the same roof with the guy for a solid month, it felt wrong to wander off on my own.  Even if I was total shit at research.  Which I was.  In fact, he should be rubbing my face in it, but he wasn’t.

I squinted up at him and wondered if maybe he was as reluctant to be left to his own devices as I was… but, nah.  This was Wufei “Fuck Off, You Plebian” Chang.  He needed me around about as much as he needed a papercut.

A sigh swelled within my chest.  Wufei shifted like he was actually anticipating another round of Maxwell Charm.

But then—

The sound of footsteps in the hall.  My fingers dug into the book binding.

“Here you are.  Of course,” a female voice announced from the doorway.  “I’d heard a couple of mangy toms showed up in the middle of the night begging for scraps.”

I twisted around to return the greeting.  “Meow, to you, too, Meiran.”  I tossed her a smirk.  “On the prowl for a new scratching post, are ya?”

“Are you volunteering?”

I chuckled.  “Oh, it would be my pleasure.”

“Absolutely,” she agreed with what the Brits probably called a cheeky grin.  She let the door close soundlessly behind her and marched over to the war zone that was our study table.  The resident scholar had once more settled into a scholarly hunch.

“Chang.  Un-fuse your bloody nose from that book’s bum crack and give us a ‘hello.’”

He tilted his chin up even as his eyes continued moving across the line of text.  “Hello.”

I could practically hear her roll her eyes.  “Wanker.”

“Not in front of me, he doesn’t,” I chirped, “so I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“I’d rather watch paint dry.  Grass grow.  Jocks named Solo Maxwell try to work out a joke.”

“Huh?” I dumbed on cue.

She slid into the seat next to mine and punched my shoulder.  Hard.

“You hankering for a fight, Long?” I asked her, alarmed by how much I wanted her to say “yes.”  She’d kick my ass, but I’d smile through it.  Hell, anything to bleed out some of the energy that was making my skin itch.

“Aw, Maxwell.  If I hadn’t just washed my hair…”

“A likely excuse.  Afraid I’m gonna mess up your manicure, too?”

“Oh?  Yours has already gone to shit, has it?”

My what—oh.  Fucking Brit humor.  “You be the judge,” I invited, waggling my nails at her.  “Chang’s handiwork.”

“Ooh, so excited to paint your pinkie he didn’t properly research beforehand?”

“Didn’t wanna lose his place in line.”

Meiran laughed in my face.  “To give you a kick in the balls.”

And that right there was the number one reason why I shouldn’t be trying harder to get a sparring match out of her.

“So, I hear there might be new management around here.  They weren’t dumb enough to put you in charge, were they?”

“Watch it, Maxwell,” she warned.

I grinned as obnoxiously as possible.

“Old man Po has gone on retirement.  Long over-due,” she opined with a derisive snort.

“What’s your beef with him?”  I remembered how viciously disgusted she’d been with Ol’ Po and his lackeys at the dell in Central Park.  “I’d have thought you’d want the fey eradicated.”  Dumping my brother into the fey realm would have certainly dealt a hard blow.  The equivalent of a terrorist attack on unsuspecting civilians, I’d bet.

“Of course I want the lot of them gone,” she replied with a sneer, “but Old Po muzzled your brother.  And was about to drop him into the fey world in nothing but his Y-fronts to do his dirty work for him.  We’re not fey.  We don’t use our people for bloody cannon fodder.”

Chang spoke up.  “I’m sure he believed the ends would justify the means.”

“Well, they bloody don’t.  He brought dishonor on all of us.  We fight our own battles.”

Chang’s lip curled.  “Which is why the fey have been slaughtering us left, right, and center.”

Meiran didn’t snarl back, which surprised me.  Instead, she said very solemnly, “I know.  But if we adopt their methods, what do we become?”

“Victors,” he supplied.

She planted both palms on the table and stood, bristling.  “Victors who are just like them!  Are you willing for our people to suffer that cost?  I’m not.  And Sally isn’t, either.”  When Chang offered no further comment, she leaned back and glanced my way.  “She’s the new management.”

“Good,” I said.  I liked Sally.  I mean, obviously.  She’d genuinely tried to help us when Duo had been taken by Treize.  And she hadn’t treated Trowa like shit stuck to the bottom of her shoe.  Don’t get me wrong; there were times when the asshole deserved it, but she hadn’t judged him for simply being a fey.  She had a level head on her shoulders.  I glanced at Meiran and felt a twang of unease; God help us all when Master Long finally named her his successor.

Across the table, Chang shifted.  “I’ve found a reference to a fey healer.”

“Let’s have it,” I invited, shocking myself with my own eagerness.  Anything to show that the last twelve-plus hours hadn’t been a complete waste.

“Apparently, the Po family owes him a debt—”

“Like hell they do,” Meiran barked.

Chang gave her a long look.  “It’s right here.  He came between the Po Clan and certain obliteration.”

“Had his own agenda is more like.  Put them in that position to begin with, or sat back and waited for it, then charged in to save the bloody day.”

“Semantics,” Chang insisted.

“You know where you can shove those semantics?” she asked with a sharp smile.

“The same delightful storage area that accommodates your honorable ideals?”

“Well then it’s a good thing you’re never going to lead the clan.  Do you know what that responsibility means?”

“It’s a death sentence,” he replied bluntly enough to make me wince.

“Unless someone unassociated with the clan offers quiet but effective assistance.”  She gave him a long, hard look.  “There are things I can’t do.  Out of principle or practicality.  I can’t lead if I throw my people into the abyss.”

I considered this.  “So you need someone to keep up the drawbridge.”

They both looked at me.  I shrugged.  “Things are changing, right?  The Sicarian’s not going away.”  Not if Trowa or I had anything to say about it.  “And it’s gonna take time for practices to catch up to reality.”  I looked at Chang.  “C’mon, man.  You gonna tell me you’re not up for this?”

“I’m up for it.”

Meiran nodded.  “Good.”

And, y’know what?  I think the three of us were.  Good, I mean – in that moment, no one wanted to rip anyone’s head off and stick it on a pike.  I half expected a choir of angels to descend on a beam of heavenly light singing hallelujah in 5-part harmony.  Or whatever.

“So,” Meiran began again, “I can believe that Chang came all this way just to feel up some musty books, but what’s your deal, Maxwell?”

“Had to speak with the head honcho,” I told her.  “In fact, I’d like an update sometime this frickin’ year.”

“She’s a bit busy, you know.”

I smirked.  “What are you – her secretary?”

“Liaison for the London clan,” she corrected me cattily.

“Lucky us.”

“How’s that?” she challenged with a jut of her chin.

I shrugged.  “No point in giving you the details now.  It’s gonna depend on how the next couple of days go.”

“What are you after?”

“Quatre Winner,” I replied with a very enthusiastic but totally humorless smile.  “And if Sally Po wants in—”

“When she wants in,” Chang cut in.

I continued, “We’re here to make it happen.”

“Quatre Winner,” Meiran repeated.  “Are you completely cracked?”

She could talk trash at us all she wanted, but that wouldn’t change the fact that taking down Quatre Winner would be the biggest coup in clan history.  More or less.

“Cracked?” I mocked.  “Nah.  Just real sure of ourselves.”

And done with waiting.  It was long past time my brother and I did something about the piece of shit who’d killed our parents for the possibility – the mere possibility – of personal gain.  

Meiran processed that for a moment before demanding almost shrilly, “Where is your brother?”

“That is the million-dollar question.  Or, the Quatre Question, I guess.”

She gaped at us.  “You are both completely off your—”

A cell phone rang.  Chang shifted aside an open volume and scooped it up.  “What?”

Jesus H. Christ.  What a fucking Prince Charming.

His eyes narrowed.  “We’ll be there shortly.”

“Where we goin,’ shorty?” I demanded as he thumbed the disconnect button.

“Incident Room.  The email’s been sent.  Quatre’s people are on the move.”

Meiran sputtered, “This is happening?”

“Unstoppably.”  He stood up, removing his reading glasses with a distracted flick of his wrist.

“Oh, bugger,” she spat, jumping up with all the grace of a pirouetting water buffalo.  “Well?  Move your arse, Maxwell.”

“Can’t resist anymore, huh?” I teased through a smirk, planting both hands on the table and hauling my numb rear end outta my seat as Chang started organizing his library finds into neat stacks.

“Got it in one,” she snapped.  “But rest assured no one will find your body.”

“Chang,” I said.  “You gonna hang here or what?”

He sighed.  “Or what.”

“You two joined at the hip now?” Meiran sneered.

Chang gave her an unamused look as he grabbed his sheathed sword from bench beside him.  “Your intel on the fey may need updating.”

“That’s been taken care of.”

“Yes, because you were present when the Sicarian obliterated some of the most intimidating fey known to us.”

“Oh, eat me.”

My smirk now was pretty fucking amused.  “Get in line, sister,” I told her just to watch her shudder.

“Bloody hell.  I always knew you had a cunt, Maxwell.”

My eyebrows arched as Chang snorted out a laugh.

Fucking Brit humor.

At least I didn’t have to put up with this shit from Sally.  Yet another reason to appreciate the new management.  But that was gonna have to take a backseat; going from the ear-ringing quiet of the archives to the sensory overload that was the Incident Room was like parachuting into a monster truck rally.  The command center of the New York Clan flashed with the light from monitors, pulsed with each electronic beep, and wheezed along with the quiet hum of hard drive fan motors.  Hellfire, the clicking of fingers typing away on keyboards and people shouting updates reminded me of a scene from Die Hard.  The airport one.  Movie two?  Yeah.  Number two; the first sequel.

Meiran led us through the controlled chaos to the workstation where the New York Clan’s newest leader was scanning video feeds side-by-side with her grunts.

“Solo,” Sally greeted me, working a smile through her stressed expression.  She didn’t take her eyes off of the monitors, though.  “As good is it is to see you again so soon, I was hoping it would be under different circumstances.”

No shit.  “Yeah, well.  I’ll hold onto the ‘I told you so’ for next time.  You got what you need to get shit done?”

She tapped the monitor, pulling up an email on the touch screen.  “Your brother sent this email a few minutes ago.  From your home computer in Boston.”

“A ruse.  Keep tracing it.”  If you can.

“And where will it lead us?”

“To the fey resistance.”

Everyone in a ten-foot radius stopped what they were doing, turned, and gaped at me.  Meiran got right in my face.  “If that’s true, you should be able to tell us where it is.”

“I don’t know.”  And that was the truth.  “Finish tracing the message.”

“You can bet we will,” Sally promised, motioning for Meiran to take her seat.  As she took over for Sally, she glanced at the dude sitting at the neighboring terminal.  Just a look and he barked at everyone else to stop gawking with their figurative dick in their hand and get the hell back to work.  Or something.  Maybe I wasn’t translating that right.  Whatever.

I said to Sally, “In the meantime, put me to work.”

She laid a hand on my shoulder and angled me toward a meeting space: the eye in the storm of controlled chaos.  In the five seconds we had between here and there, I had to ask, “Hey, you said things were in flux—how come you didn’t own up to your promotion?”

She gave me a wry grin.  “I’m still on probation.  The assembly can revoke it if I mismanage clan resources.”

“Ah.  Gotcha.  Let’s not fuck this up, then.”

“Let’s.”

She whistled and heads lifted from terminals like gophers popping up for a breath of fresh air.  “Assemble!” she called out.  Papers rustled and chairs rattled as people untangled themselves from monitors and keyboards to converge upon the massive circular table.

“Everyone, your attention,” Sally demanded, gesturing me to a seat.  “This is Solo Maxwell of Caerlaverock.  His brother is Duo Maxwell, whom you are all aware has been identified as the host of the Sicarian.”

I lowered myself between a pair of scarred and scowling hunters who held themselves so stiffly I might as well have been an ill-tempered scorpion.  I gave them the Maxwell Grin.

Sally slid into her own chair.  “Mr. Maxwell has come here to share intel with us on an operation that may coincide with our efforts.”

She didn’t offer Chang a seat – and I was about to object mightily to the oversight – when he moved to stand behind my chair, mirroring several other lieutenants who hovered in close proximity to their captains.

Dude.  I wasn’t sure I was comfortable with what this arrangement seemed to be saying about us, but I figured I’d lodge a complaint later.

Sally nodded in my direction and I took over.  “Right.  We’re going after Quatre Winner.  Of Boston,” I began, glaring back at the challenging and disbelieving looks I was getting from Po’s people.  “He wants the fey resistance and its leader.  And the Sicarian.”

“The resistance?  Some piddly fey rebellion against the dells?” someone checked, adding with a scoff, “They’re no match for Winner’s resources.”

I corrected, “Uh, they are now that they’ve got their general back.”

“Back?” someone else bleated and I figured I’d better start at the beginning.  Fucking hellfire. 

“The Silencer, the founder of the resistance and its general, is a healer.  One I think the Po family has dealt with before.” 

There were several hard, disbelieving stares.  To which, I shrugged and said, “Chang Wufei may have more info on that.  What I can tell you is that the Silencer has a lot of fey dedicated to wiping out the masters.  Now, we can roll with this – and I for one wanna be in on it – or we can be a bunch of stubborn asswipes and let both sides obliterate each other.”

“That would not be a bad thing.”

“Sure,” I agreed with a side of sarcasm.  “Because they don’t need human sacrifices or anything to summon their soldiers back to life.”

A beat of silence followed that remark.

“Look,” I continued, “can we all agree that human deaths are a bad thing?”  I took their tense expressions and shifting gazes to mean that they did, in fact, agree.  OK, then.  Moving on…  “Things are changing.  The resistance wants the council back.”

“Then they shouldn’t have destroyed it in the first place!”

“That was a manipulation by Treize,” I stated flatly.  “One of the Silencer’s fey believed the bullshit intel Treize planted.  He went against the Silencer’s orders and he made a mistake.  A big mistake.  And he knows it.  He thought he was taking out Treize’s alliance of dell leaders and shit.”

“Says you.”

“Says him.  You can ask him yourself.  I’ll even introduce you.  If he makes it through the assault Winner’s planning.”  I resisted the urge to run my fingers through my hair.  “The bottom line is that Winner wants the resistance, the Silencer, and the Sicarian.  If he can’t get them to work for him… well, he’s gonna lose his sense of humor.”

“And we should interfere with this because…?” yet another new voice interjected.

I took a deep breath.  “Because this is the first step.  The fey world is gonna change real soon.  Who do you guys wanna be dealing with?  Quatre Winner or the Silencer and the Sicarian?”

“You’re assuming the Silencer and the Sicarian are on the same side.”

“Nope, I’m not.  They’re joined.  Companion and consort.”  Everyone at the table stiffened with shock.  Sally included.  I wasn’t happy about revealing this last bit; it was need-to-know. Too bad these stuck-up stubborn assholes needed to know.

Just then, a grunt jogged over to the table and whispered an update in Sally’s ear.  She leaned back and gave the poor bastard an ice-cold glare.  A skin-peeling East Coast winter blizzard had nothing on the woman.  The messenger gulped, nodded, and retreated back to his station.

She turned back to meet the expectant gazes of the table’s occupants.  “Maxwell’s email originated from a service provider in Niagara Falls.  Our intel is consistent with Quatre Winner moving in that direction,” she summarized.  “Why?”

“He got the same email you just did.  Traced it the same as you.”

“To the fey resistance base?”

I confirmed, “The Sicarian and the Silencer arrived there yesterday evening.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

Bodies shifted and faces scowled as that was absorbed.

Sally sat forward and looked me right in the eye.  “Trowa – he isn’t just a healer – he’s the Silencer?”

“Mistress Po,” I said, “he is apparently the only healer in the fey world.  And if we don’t move to box in Quatre’s forces, he might end up with his head in a glass jar.  Again.”

“Trowa?  Trowa of the Boston Dell?” an older man demanded, his fists clenched.  __“That__  Trowa?”

“No,” I said.  I felt a hand on my shoulder and a moment later, I heard Wufei’s voice.

“Trowa is not the Silencer’s true name.  I would be happy to provide additional information on this after Winner has been dealt with.”  He looked Sally’s way.  “If I’m not mistaken, the Po family does owe the Silencer a gesture of gratitude.”

“Yes,” she confirmed.  “We do.”

Especially considering what Old Bob Po had intended to do to the Silencer’s companion.  Jesus, Mary, and Father Christmas.  Duo might have thrown himself into the dell because he believed it would save Trowa’s life, but Po would have chucked him in there regardless.

“And with everything that could possibly oppose Quatre Winner in one convenient place, he’s never been closer to achieving his goals,” Sally Po informed her inner circle.

I addressed the same stuffy jerks, “So, by all means, let’s all sit around with a thumb up our ass.”  Wufei’s fingers dug into the meat of my shoulder.

The new head honcho stood and addressed the table.  Outlined the game plan for everyone in earshot.  As I’d already told her the actual strategy the evening before, all I had to do was nod at key points.  One in particular was giving everyone trouble:

“The fey resistance will be in charge of minimizing human casualties?” the woman across from me sneered.  “You expect us to believe that?”

Her neighbor concurred, “Fey have no interest in protecting human lives.”

I argued, “Which is why Winner won't be expecting it.  All we gotta do is prevent a retreat.”

Chang spoke up, “A role that the clan doesn’t often take, either.”

“Sorry you probably won’t get any heads to add to your collection,” I unapologetically mused.  "But watching Winner burn is gonna be a hell of a show."

Sally had the best view of the anticipatory gleam shining in each and every pair of eyes.  No one here except for Sally had yet seen the Sicarian in action and they were dying to witness it for themselves.  I wasn't all that happy about dangling this kind of carrot, but if that was what it took to guarantee their cooperation, then that’s what I’d do.

A beat of silence rippled out over the assembly of hunter captains.

Sally nodded.  “We know the target.  We’ve got the location.  Let’s box him in, people.”

The Po had spoken.

Everyone erupted into motion.  Maps.  Strategy.  Orders.  Supply packs and headsets.  The pace was barely enough to let me catch my breath.

And then they started distributing weapons.  Knives, long-barreled revolvers, rifles with laser sights and scopes, supply packs containing clunky-looking semi-automatics that turned out to be packing charged prongs: a long-range stun gun.

I glimpsed Chang lifting his family sword and strapping it to his back – it was fucking unbelievable that he’d spent hours walking around in New York City with it just slung across his back the evening before – and I dived for Sally Po before she could blast off and leave me here.  “You know why I’ve gotta come with you.”

“I know, Solo.  Stick with Meiran.   Winner’s people will be looking for you, so let’s draw them in.  You focus on staying mobile and let us do our thing.”

Their thing.  Their tagging and sabotaging of Winner’s vehicles before the shitbags could scatter like cockroaches.  Dammit.  I loved playing with batteries and distributor caps.  Now I was never gonna make the Guinness Book of World Records for number of tires slashed.  How’d I end up with the short stick here?

Seeing my disgruntled look, Sally pressed, “All right?”

“Yeah, I got it.”  Didn’t like it much, but I got it.  As she turned away, a hand came down on my shoulder.

I turned and felt my mouth kick up into a crooked grin.  “Finished your book?”

“This takes precedence, Maxwell,” Wufei told me with quiet confidence.

“Yeah,” I chortled, a breath away from betting he was bringing his current favorite along for the ride.  I gave his bag a once-over, but it didn’t look like he’d shoved any tomes in there.  Deflating until I had nuthin’ but the tension of the operation ahead of us to hold me together, I observed, “Not even bringing one for the road, huh?”

“I suppose you’ll have to keep me entertained.”

“Awesome.  License plate scrabble here we come.”

“Hoo-rah,” he deadpanned.

But his grip on my shoulder tightened.  He didn’t promise that Duo was gonna be OK, that our plan was gonna work, that we were gonna be left in peace after this.  There were no promises anyone could make—

“I will stand with you, Maxwell.”

Except for maybe that.  My jaw clenched.  “I know you will.  Duo knows it, too.”

The New York Clan was located right under the city and in between some of the most prominent subway stations.  Making our exit was as simple as slipping out of a service door and scanning a subway pass card.  We sped through the tunnels toward pre-arranged stops that were near parking garages which sat minutes away from highway on-ramps.  I didn’t try to make eye contact with any of the clan members on the train or even Meiran.  I stood next to Wufei and thought about the last time we’d taken the subway to an unknown destination.

“What if he anticipates our moves?” I heard someone murmur.

“Solo.”

I winced at the subtle scolding.  I deserved it.  I’d asked the one question that had no answer.  But now that we were actually kicking this shit off, it was stirring up all the doubts I’d been burying under my impatience.

Jesus, this really was nuts.  I mean, hellfire and damnation.  Why hadn’t we all just kept our heads down and found another place to hide out in?

But I knew why.

I’d had this argument with myself at least a hundred times before: if we didn’t act now, Winner would.  He’d flush us out again and again, pick off our friends and allies until we were desperate, penniless fugitives.

Our inaction was the only thing shy of joining forces with the asshole that would make him stronger.  We couldn’t afford that.  Hell, if my little brother still had a shot at a normal life—well, there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do.  But it was a sure bet that we were never gonna be able to go back to Boston.  At this point, a fresh, anonymous start was the most we could hope for.

No wonder I wasn’t feeling all that optimistic about this all of a sudden.  I mean, the best case scenario would mean re-building our damn lives.  Conversely, what was the worst that could happen?  Oh, only total failure.  Death.  Despair.  A world at war.

Lovely.

We stepped off the subway and followed the smattering of oblivious passengers up to the gloomy, night-darkened streets of New York’s less vivacious neighborhoods.  We circled the block, and ducked into the parking structure that held a selection of clan vehicles.

No one said a word as we converged on the cars.  Meiran claimed shotgun and a dude that both she and Chang seemed to know slid behind the wheel.  Winner had a head start on us, but as soon as the engine growled to life, I knew we were gonna be cutting that lead down.  Holy fucking hellfire, whatever they had under the hood sure as hell hadn’t been part of the standard package.

“You said you updated clan intel,” Wufei reminded Meiran, and it was such a fucking relief to have something else to listen to besides the slow Southern drawl of dread that crawled out from around the corners of my every thought.

There was enough space between me and Wufei in the back seat so that we had plenty of room to ourselves, but he leaned out from behind the front passenger seat as if he’d be able to hear her better.  The car spiraled down through the complex and I let the momentum push me away from the window until my shoulder bumped his.

“The human companion and fey consort bit hasn’t been documented since the eighteen hundreds,” she was saying.  “And there’s a lot we still don’t know about it.”

There was a lot that even I didn’t know about it.  I sure as hell hoped Trowa had brought my brother up to speed at least.  I felt my hands curl into fists at the thought of my brother having learning difficulties now because his fey boyfriend hadn’t looked before he’d leaped.  Manipulative shithead.

Wufei shifted and I met his gaze.  He glanced down at my fisted hand and I forced myself to let it go.  Duo would deal with it.  I had to let him deal with it.  I wasn’t his keeper, after all.

We pulled out onto the street and I sat up straight, staring out the window as we merged with traffic, climbed up onto the highway, and blasted out of the city behind a guy in a pickup that was already going well over the speed limit.

“Text,” Wufei suddenly said, startling me from my contemplation of blurred streetlamps and shadows.

He nodded toward the car in front of us and the one a lane over.  I noted their license plates and— “Seriously?”

He shrugged.  “Eleven points.  Let’s see you do better.”

Meiran snorted.  “Can you even spell, Maxwell?”

“Sounding it out not working for you, Long?” I teased.

“Fucker,” she grunted and I grinned.  Maybe I was getting the hang of this Brit humor shit.

But then she announced, “Fifteen points.”

And that was when I realized she hadn’t been conceding defeat; she’d joined the game.  I made a show of rolling up my shirt sleeves.  “Exacted,” I bit out with relish.  “Seventeen points.”

The game held my interest for a couple dozen miles before it was overpowered by my simmering resentment: just yesterday, I’d been traveling this same stretch of road.  I glared at the continuing road construction as we crawled past the work crew.  Hell, I even recognized a couple of guys in the glare of the headlights, prompting the age old question: to wave mockingly or to commiserate in silence.

I added words like “irate” and “futile” to my scrabble score, uncaring of the relatively low letter values.

“Fucked,” I contributed without bothering to actually check the license plates for myself – I was too busy scowling out at the midnight scenery to do more than work with the letters that Chang and Meiran had just used.

“That’s it,” Meiran exploded.  “You’re done.”

“Oh?  So I win.  Cool.”

“Not __cool,”__  she mocked me.  “Shit your head out of your arse.”

“Or else what?”

She sucked in a breath.

Chang interjected, “A little optimism would be appreciated.  As this is the eve of battle, so to speak.”

Battle.  Right.  I hadn’t been giving it much thought.  I’d been stuck on the cold, hard fact that even if everything went our way.  Even if Weiner got what was coming to him, it wouldn’t matter.  Not in my lifetime.

God damn it all.  Boston was my home.  It was so fucking unfair.

All of it was so totally unfair.  How could my little brother just keep rolling with this shit?  I just—how was Duo not even angry about any of this?

“It’s the sex,” Chang stated.

I startled and looked at him, taking in his fey-worthy smirk.  He cocked a brow at me and drawled, “Oh, you hadn’t meant to say that out loud?”

Meiran’s moan of disgust cut off my sputtering.  “I’d thought you could sink no lower.”

“To one’s knees is sufficient,” he returned evilly.

Jesus.  What a visual.  That I totally did not need.

Meiran shuddered.  “That is just—Thank you.  So much.  For making my bloody skin crawl.”

“Well settle it down, yeah?” I ordered, finding a spark somewhere within me and rallying.  “You might end up fighting side-by-side with fey before this is over.”

“Ugh.”  She shuddered again.

“Thank God I didn’t grow up in a clan,” I grumbled.  “This intolerance is gonna get you killed one day, Long.”

“I’ll take my fucking chances.”

“Yeah, you do,” I agreed.

“Tell you what, Maxwell.  If I see a gullible fey girl, I’ll point her in your direction.”

“Instead of lopping off her head?”

“You won’t need that bit anyway, will you?”

“Jesus Christ.  Are you always this much of a bitch or are you making a special effort just for me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

I was this fucking close to crawling over Chang’s lap and shoving Meiran out of the car.  Would she bounce when she hit the asphalt?  C’mon, kids.  Let’s conduct an experiment.

I glared at her.

She ignored me.

Chang pulled out his phone and announced, “No messages from Duo.”

“Expecting one?” I said.

He tilted his head to the side.  “Situations change.”

“Don’t fucking jinx it.”  I ran a hand through my hair.  Shit like that was the last thing I wanted to think about.  We had a plan.  We had some contingencies.  That would have to be enough.  Because if it wasn’t we were shit outta luck.

Meiran angled her chin toward us.  “The clan received an email from Duo.  Sent from your home computer in Boston.”

“Yeeaah,” I confirmed, wondering where she was going with this.

“Is he genuinely suicidal?”

“Are you?” I shot back out of pure reflex, but I answered her question before she said something that really would have me kicking her out onto the asphalt.  “Giving up our address in Boston is no big loss—”  Well, it shouldn’t have been, but I was sure as hell feeling it.  “Since everyone and their dog probably knows where we live by now.”

“We knew this was coming,” Wufei told her.

She was silent for a moment.  “I see.”

I’d bet she did; Duo was drawing Quatre in.  Right into the arms of the Sicarian.

How many fey was my little brother gonna have to destroy before we got there?  Jesus.  I knew this was part of the plan, but y’know that didn’t mean I was thrilled about it.

Didn’t mean Duo had been thrilled about it, either, but there was no way I could tell anyone just how unenthusiastic my little brother was about utilizing the Sicarian for its intended purpose.  Talk about shooting yourself in the foot.  All I had – my only hope – was my brother-in-law’s solemn vow to keep Duo as far away from the fighting as he could.

“But if push comes to shove,” I’d provisioned, “you damn well better let him save your ass.  There’s gonna be no living with him if you die.  Got it, Tro-bro?”

He’d nodded.  “Got it.”

Maybe he did.  I guess we’d find out soon enough.

A sudden thought occurred to me.  “Hey, has the clan ever gone up against Quatre Winner?”

Wufei shook his head.

I took that as a good sign; the sonuvabitch wouldn’t have revealing data on our people or methods.

“If the clan manages to take out his support vehicles, we’ll have a shot at putting the fear of God into that scheming fey bastard,” I reminded all of us.  It was our primary mission objective, after all.

“The Sicarian isn’t going to manage that all by himself?” Meiran challenged.

“Winner’s gonna aim for the Silencer.  That’s his leverage against the Sicarian.”

“As are you,” Wufei remarked.

“As is pretty much any human being in the vicinity.  Us included,” I pointed out.  “We gotta assume that Winner knows we’re heading there and he’s gonna be looking to take human hostages.”

“Or attacking us openly,” Meiran added in the tone of a woman who’s expecting to take on the Kracken all on her lonesome.

Yeah, I could tell that Meiran -- and probably the rest of the clan -- still didn’t believe that the fey would come through for us.  “It’s not gonna come to that.  Trowa and Duo aren’t gonna leave us hanging.”

I could almost hear Meiran rolling her eyes.  “Let’s just get on with it.”

As for me, I was hung up on the realization that we really were in the middle of a war zone.

It started raining just after sunrise.  We cruised through the streets of a still-sleeping downtown Niagara Falls in a grey mist.

“Is this the plan?” I checked as the driver made yet another seemingly random turn.

“It is for us,” Meiran replied shortly.

“Patrols,” Chang supplied.  “They’ll scout for fey and we’ll draw them out.”

The town was by no means large, but still, the sheer number of look-outs we’d need would be staggering.  “Gonna be a little obvious with -- what -- half the damn clan out on the streets, isn’t it?”

Meiran turned to smirk at me.  “Absolutely.”

And she was right.  As businesses opened for another invasion of tourists, we motored past large groups of Chinese toting clan supply packs that doubled convincingly as high-end camera bags, carry-alls, and go-bags.  Hellfire and damnation.  The clan were reconnoitering the town in search of fey vehicles to sabotage as gaggles of sightseers.  Completely camouflaged by being completely obvious.

“OK, I’ll admit this is kinda brilliant.”

“Told you,” Meiran retorted and I was too impressed to rip her head off over it.

A cell phone rang and the three of us scrambled for our jacket pockets.  Meiran was the one who took the call.

“Sally.  Putting you on speaker.”

“We’ve had a reported sighting.  Prince of the Falls Hotel.  Trowa—”

I stiffened, my attention sharpening almost painfully.

“—and two human women.”

Meiran nodded to the driver, who merged with traffic into the left-turn lane.  “We’re on it.”

My fingers dug into the arm rest and I craned my neck to see around the driver, searching for the building.  Were we blocks away from meeting up with Trowa?  One of the human women could even be Duo in disguise.  Maybe the other one was Sylvia?  It was mid-morning and traffic was really picking up, slowing our progress to an agonizing crawl.

“We could fucking walk faster than this,” I bitched.

“By all means, give away our destination, Maxwell,” Meiran invited with a flippant gesture.

I snarled.  A hand gripped my shoulder and I had to fight the urge to shrug him off.

Despite it being after summer peak, the traffic was complete and utter crap.  Having abandoned our aimless circling, it felt like we were trying to paddle upstream in a leaky canoe with nothing but our bare hands.  Or, check that.  Paddling upstream in a leaky canoe with nothing but our bare hands in a river that was filled with mud and rocks instead of water.

So, Chang and all the rest of ‘em would have to pardon me if I wasn’t in my best, most chipper, Mary-fucking-Poppins kind of mood.

And then it got so much better.

“What now, Sally?” I barked into Meiran’s phone.  She’d answered on the first ring, IDed the caller, and put her on speaker fast enough that I hadn’t had the time to grab the damn thing from her hand.

“Update on the hotel.  Four fey have been identified entering the lobby.”

“IDs?” Chang requested.

“Sending photos.”

She signed off and left us to consider the images.  They all looked like badass Arab dudes to me.

“Rashid,” Chang remarked, pointing to the biggest guy.  “Abdul,” he added of a more slender individual.  “I’m unfamiliar with the other two, but Rashid and Abdul are known associates of Winner’s.”

“Any guesses as to what’s in the suitcase?”  Four guys and one roller bag.  It didn’t get much more suspicious than that.

“A headache,” Chang predicted darkly.

“A pain in the arse,” Meiran amended.

“Sounds like fun,” I snarked, imagining all sorts of guns and shit that could easily fit in a case that size.  Wasn’t this going to be a lark?

“That’s it.  The hotel,” Chang announced and I ducked down to better see the hotel's banner through the windshield.

The Prince of the Falls Hotel was the Goddamn Ritz.  Holy hellfire.  Were they even gonna let us in the lobby?  If they didn’t, what was I gonna do about it?

Something violent, that’s for damn sure.

As soon as we crawled up to the block that the hotel dominated, I lunged out of the still moving car and into the rain.  Meiran cursed in Chinese.  Chang jumped out, leaving the sword behind in the backseat without complaint.

We stormed the lobby.  A tour group was checking out, but Meiran and I had brought our game, elbowing our way through the knot of nitwits and kicking aside bags that blocked our path.  I reached the counter first, bracing my hands on the polished surface so that the dude on duty could see how big they were.  My scars and calluses, too.

Meiran leaned irreverently against my side, drawing lazy shapes in the air with her phone and looking bored enough to punch someone in the colon just for something to do.

I scowled through my damp bangs and the front desk clerk took half a step back.  “Good morning.  How may I assist you?”

Chang slithered between my arm and a large, sweaty straw-hat-topped creature to lean against the front desk.  “Could you please ring Trowa Maxwell and tell him his probation officer would like a word?”

The clerk blinked at me, clearly deciding that I must be some kind of ex-con.  Meiran was either my girlfriend or accomplice.  Or both.  Regardless, I had to appreciate that Trowa’s tatt-like scars would certainly aid with the illusion.

The clerk eyed Meiran’s phone but didn’t ask why we hadn’t been able to reach him.

Yeah.  Solid choice, there, buddy.

“If you would have a seat,” he replied with Oscar-award-winning ease and a nod toward the first floor waiting area, “I’ll call his room.”

We didn’t move.  Meiran answered the clerk’s wary glance with a wide leer.  He turned away, scooped up the nearby phone and dialed.

I watched the guy’s Adam’s apple dip as he waited for someone to pick up the other end.  Seconds stretched, stacked, and swayed like a tower of guillotine blades ready to fall.

“Hello!” the fellow gasped out.  “This is the front desk calling to let you know that your probation officer is waiting for you in the lobby.”

There was some sort of brief response that I couldn’t hear and then the clerk lowered the handset.  “He’ll join you shortly.”  This time, when he gestured to the waiting area, Meiran led the way over there and claimed an arm of an armchair for herself.

I scoffed, “We’re not seriously gonna sit here and wait?”

Meiran gave me a look that came with a metaphorical slap on the back of the head.

Chang was the one who actually answered.  “No.  We just need a moment to run the video of the clerk’s hand as he dialed the room number.  She has an app that decodes hand motion to reveal passwords and the like.”

“That sounds… pretty fucking illegal.”

She shrugged.  “The Net is neutral ground.”

How true.  And potentially terrifying.  Thank God it might actually work in our favor.  This time.

“807,” she reported and we meandered toward the elevators, using the chaotic mess of a newly assembled and very restless tour group for cover so that the clerk didn’t notice that we hadn’t been met by anyone.

I glanced in the direction of the service stairs and opened my mouth to suggest we take those—

“No cameras,” Chang reminded me with uncanny timing.  “No insurance.”

Right.  We’d be more likely to get cornered and attacked in a blind spot of the building.  I kept pace with Meiran and Chang and waited as patiently as I could for the elevator to arrive.

The service stairwell door opened and two Middle Eastern dudes I immediately recognized emerged, heading over to join our little elevator ride group.  I didn’t stare.  Didn’t tense when I sensed Meiran’s smirk of anticipation.  I almost bemoaned the fact that Chang had left that sword behind in the car until I realized that my neck would probably wind up in the way of the business end.  So, maybe it was for the best that he didn’t have it on him.

The light on the call button winked out.  With a soft ping, the doors slid open.  The five of us got inside.

There were two panels of floor buttons, one next to the doors on the right and the other set at a handicap-considerate height on the left-hand wall.  Right in the middle.  The elevator itself was large enough that none of us had an excuse not to reach over and push the button for our desired floor.

Our mutual hesitation as we waited for the other group to make the first move was telling.  Fucking gave the game away.  Jesus.  We had zero element of surprise.  For some reason, that seemed to make Meiran smile harder.  She leaned a hip against the handrail that encircled the cab and jabbed the button for the eighth floor with her middle finger.

Our two new friends selected the button for the twelfth.

So we were gonna be putting our backs to them when we arrived.  I was willing to bet that the other two – Rashid and Abdul – would be waiting in the hall to welcome us.

Four against three.  Well, fine then.  Bring it, you fey bastards.

I watched the light above the doors blink through each floor as we passed.

Second...

I shifted my pack around to my chest.

Third...

Started rifling through the pockets.

Fourth...

“Goddamnit, baby cakes, did ya steal my gum again?” I bitched at Meiran.

Fifth...

She smirked.  “What the hell are you looking at me for?  I’m not your baby, cake, or any combination thereof.”

Sixth...

“That’s not what you were sayin’ last night.”

Seventh...

“In your dreams,” she drawled.

The elevator slowed.  Stopped.  Lurched softly.

Eight.

_Ping!_

“You’d know,” I retorted.  “You were there, too, honey buns.”

The doors whispered open.

“Save it for the room,” Chang demanded in a snide tone that kinda shocked me.

“Jealous?” I guessed.  “You can come, too, if ya ask nicely.”

We moved into the eighth floor landing.

“Yes, so you promised last night and yet I had to resort to begging,” Chang stated and I just about swallowed my own tongue.  Would have if the dudes hadn’t chosen that moment to forgo their journey a few floors up in favor of shadowing us.

Three strides brought us to a 3-way intersection.  Rooms 801 through 809 were to the left.  811 through 848 to the right.

Meiran turned right.  Led us away from our target.  I was pretty sure we were gonna find that service stairs now.  Or a laundry room.  Or a fucking ice machine and vending corner.  Someplace where I could use the stun gun I’d unbuckled from inside my pack.  The safety was off.  It was fully charged.  This was gonna happen.

Happen it did.

The service stair entrance came up on the right, its fire proof window revealing the steady glow of unflattering fluorescent light.

Chang lunged.  Meiran shoved at my arm.  The three of us rushed onto the landing.  Chang positioned himself behind the door and Meiran pulled me up the stairs.

The two fey barged in just like they were supposed to.  Chang kicked the door into one, throwing him off balance.  Meiran took a running leap at the second, who tumbled ass over tea kettle down the steps.  I jumped down onto the landing just as Chang dodged a right hook and I smashed my fist in the guy’s face.

Boosh.  That’s how we do this.

Zip-ties and duct tape made an appearance and then we were ready to head back into the main corridor.

Up next was room 807, Abdul, and Rashid.  And, not gonna lie, I was kinda wishing the stun gun was more like a lightning bolt bazooka because that dude had looked fucking huge.

Meiran didn’t hesitate.  Of course.  God forbid she show an ounce of self-preservation or common sense.  With a heavy sigh, Chang nodded for me to go after her.  I did my part to slow down her relentless approach with a well-timed, “Hey, too bad we don’t have a maid’s uniform for ya, Long, or you could do the whole ‘room service’ routine.”

“You’ll have to tell me how that goes,” she replied in a hiss.  “You’re clearly the expert on it.”

“Cleavage helps.”

“Cleaving your skull, more like.”

I grinned; it was working.  She’d slowed her steps as we’d passed the elevators and now we were approaching the room at a pace that probably wouldn’t get us killed.

“Which room was it again?” I checked, looking around and, in the process, projecting my voice toward Room 807, our true objective.  But I said, “808, yeah?”

“Yes,” Chang confirmed.

“You remembered that all by yourself, Maxwell.  I’m impressed.”

“Doesn’t take much to wow the easily entertained,” I retorted, flashing a smile.

We turned toward the room across the hall from 807.  I ducked my head like I was rooting around in my pack for something to crack the electronic lock on the door.  “Ready or not, here we come,” I sang softly and that was right when Round Two started.

The door to 807 swung open in swift silence, displacing the air in the corridor.  Meiran and Chang pivoted smartly and dived for the massive mountain of a guy who charged us.  Chang aimed high with his stun gun, catching the dude in the throat; Meiran rolled and came up swinging right between his legs.  I almost winced in sympathy at the twin currents of electricity and their debilitating placements.

The poor fucker never had a chance.

He went down hard and I dived for his feet to help haul his bulk fully into the room.  The door swung shut behind us.

Us.  The four of us, that is.  Meiran, Chang, Rashid, and myself.  I peered into the bathroom, but it was empty.

“Where’s chucklehead number four?” I wanted to know.

“Not here, clearly,” Chang muttered to the now-familiar accompaniment of the grating snarl of zip ties and the abrupt coughs of duct tape being unrolled.

I reached out and flicked the key card that was sitting in the wall slot.  The TV was on as were the lights.  “Someone who checked in was here.”  I turned and watched Chang check over the windows.  Meiran went into the bathroom and started banging around, even shifting the lid of the toilet back with a whisper of unfinished porcelain.

“Are we thinking they already got to Tro an’ them?  Moved ‘em someplace else?”

“You’re not thinking like a fey, Maxwell,” Chang chided me.

“Well, pardon the fuck outta me.  What do you think the deal is?”

“This room is the bait.  Trowa wouldn’t have lingered here.”

“So he made his exit?”

“Or sought out a more defensible location,” Meiran said with a surprising lack of snark.

“Roof or basement?” I guessed.

“Basement,” Wufei confirmed.  “Service doors and delivery area.”

“Right.  Let’s do this.”  I grabbed the key card, checked the peephole, and held the door.  Chang and Meiran moved into the hallway and, just before I let the door fall shut, I thought I heard a disgruntled snarl from Rashid.  At least he was coming to on a Berber carpet, his forearms duct taped to the trouser press.  He didn’t know how good he had it; his buddies would be rejoining the land of the living on the service stairs with their forearms affixed to opposite hand rails.  Oh, the fun those dudes were having in Niagara Falls today.

Chang and Meiran were a little too efficient at this zip-tie-and-duct-tape routine for it to be a recent development in clan hunting methods.  Given the number of clan archives in the world and the number of heads in each, I was pretty sure any fey who got hogtied would be hauled off for interrogation and disposal elsewhere.  After all, leaving behind a crime scene splattered with green blood was bound to become high profile.  A modern scientific mystery.

I kinda wondered how humankind would react to learning about the fey.  For certain, the potential for immortality as a fey’s companion would be damned tempting to more than a few.  But fey were hardly defenseless and it wouldn’t be long before humans figured out that part, too.  Then there’d be a campaign of containment.  The clans would get government funding and political agendas. 

Cue downward spiral of flaming destruction.

Joy.

We took the stairs.  Meiran smirked at our conscious captives as she passed by.  I was just glad it wasn’t my job to deal with these jerks.  

Nope.  Somehow, I got stuck with the bomb.

I turned away from the sight of stooge number four (currently firmly face-planted in the concrete delivery bay floor thanks to Meiran’s special talent for aiming low and hitting hard) and felt the blood drain from my face at the sight of the open suitcase.  Nestled inside amongst plastic-wrapped cubes of clay-like material was a gizmo with a blinking light that read 09:47 and counting.  Down, that is.  Counting down.

“I can’t disarm it,” Wufei grumbled, glaring up at Meiran from his crouch.  “Was the castration really necessary?”

She huffed.  “As if he would have shut it off.  Blown us all up nine minutes sooner more like.”

“Are those your last words, Long?” Wufei demanded.

She glared at him.

I checked my watch, stepped over to the suitcase, and flipped the lid shut.  Latched it.  Hefted the whole fucking thing up by its handle.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re--!”

I rolled my eyes.  “What the fuck does it look like, Long?  I’m going on my fucking honeymoon.”

Neither of them tried to stop me as I headed for the service doors.  Grabbed the handle and wrenched it open.

“Don’t be a moron,” I heard Wufei hiss as he caught up.

“Oh ye of little faith,” I sing-songed.  His shoulder bumped mine his his haste to join me in the alley.

I started rolling the bomb bag down along the asphalt though the ghostly, misting rain.  Managed two strides before Wufei very helpfully accused, “You are insane!  Insane!  Why are you heading towards the street?  The crowds!  You won’t get anywhere in this traffic.”

“Aw, honey,” I soothed.  “Are we having trust issues today?”

“Trust!” he just about squawked.  “You’re blithely wheeling a case of explosives into a busy street filled with innocent bystanders.”

“Yup.  Blithely.  I’m owning it, too, aren’t I?”  I considered it another notch on my Life’s Mission gun belt when I could make Chang Wufei snarl very colorful curses in  Chinese.  He didn’t have to snarl long.  The hotel was, literally, a stone’s throw away from the falls... which I calmly walked over to.

And then chucked the whole shebang - bag and bomb - into the misty rapids.

Despite the wet-blanket of a day, there were plenty of witnesses.  Several of those aforementioned bystanders stared, sputtered, and gaped.  I planted my fists on my hips and took a stand.  Raising my voice over the endless snarl of the falls, I announced, “I’m not saying that was eco-friendly or that I endorse littering, but I am drawing the line.  No more polo shirts or button-down oxfords!  The honeymoon is over!” I emphasized with an emphatic gesture.

This was the moment to make my escape, but I hesitated long enough to enjoy Wufei’s slack-jawed expression.  He blinked.  I smirked.  Hell yeah.  Solo Maxwell wasn’t just some dumb jock now, was he?  Neither one of us said a word.  But then, through the little rain droplets clinging to his eyelashes,  I spied a definite gleam in his eye.

And I was pretty damn sure it was pride.  Hot damn, I’d impressed the hell outta him.

A sudden smattering of applause startled me out of that little moment.  A good half dozen dudes in pressed polo shirts saluted my rebellion… to the consternation of the ladies at their sides.

I waved to my public, grabbed Wufei’s arm, and steered him into the crowd, making our general way back to the hotel.  As fun as that had been, it didn’t stop me from wondering where Trowa was.  And, by extension, Duo.

_You better be OK, dumb-bro.  Or else._

“Foolhardy, Maxwell,” he bitched weakly.

“Hey.  Before you start complaining about me endangering boaters, I suggest you check the time.  We’re between Maid of the Mist tours right now.  It’s cool.”

“Except for the matter of the blast that Winner’s people are expecting!”

“I ain’t got you in a headlock; nobody’s stopping you from calling it in.”  For sure, that wasn’t the only bomb, figuratively or literally, in Niagara Falls today.

He looked down, scowled even harder at the sight of my fingers wrapped around his arm, and yanked free of my grasp.  I grinned as he pulled out his phone and started barking at Po.  I didn’t pay much attention.  Hell, it was all blah-blah-bomb-stuff-blah bullshit.  I was more interested in the old geezer in a Maid of the Mist poncho lounging against an imitation-wrought-iron lamp post who was grinning at us from behind his aviator glasses.

Howard.

I angled Wufei in his direction.  Just as Wufei disconnected the call, I greeted Mr. Smith the Specialist with a challenge, “Like what you see?”

I daringly slid an arm around Wufei’s waist.  Honeymoon style.

Wufei drew a deep breath, but I was feelin’ lucky today, so I snuck in a grope while I was at it.

“Hope it works out for ya,” the old man replied, cutting across the imminent atomic blast from Wufei with admirable timing.  “Ya make a cute couple.”

I could feel the heat of Wufei’s glare.  It was making my skin blister.  I manfully ignored it.  To Howard, I wondered, “Where’s _your_ sweetheart?”

“Oh, my Sally’s around here somewhere.  Hope she meets me in the coffee shop o’er yonder.  I got a special somethin’ that she’s gonna love.”

With that he strolled away, but not before performing a little hip thrust that I prayed to all things holy wasn’t--

“Let’s assume he has a mobile phone in his front pocket,” Wufei murmured.

“Let’s,” I was quick to agree.  I waited while Wufei called this little incident in, my eyes scanning the mulling crowds and the soft rain dampening my shirt.

He hung up and said, “If you insist on groping me in public, I demand a cup of coffee in return.”

I guess this meant were were leaving Meiran to call for the clean-up-slash-extraction-crew all on her lonesome... if she hadn’t already.  As for myself, I was just glad to be parting ways with her highness.

I grinned.  “You say the cutest things, angel-face.”  Luckily, I knew right where the nearest coffee shop was located.  We entered, ordered, and then claimed the stools next to Howard’s as if he was just another stranger in the packed cafe.  I plopped half of the napkins I’d grabbed down in front of Wufei and used my own fistful to soak up some of the water trickling through my hair and down the back of my neck.

Howard didn’t turn to look at us.  Nope, just sipped his caramel-smothered, whipped-cream topped something-or-other and placed his iPhone on the counter at his elbow... which was also next to Wufei’s elbow.  I leaned into my better half as if to speak lowly in his ear; it gave me a pretty good angle of the phone screen.  There was a map of the area with no less than twenty red, pulsing dots.  Some in motion and some not.  A half dozen gathered in a worrisome cluster.

“They have an app for everything these days,” I heard Howard say and I realized what he was showing us: the precise locations of Winner’s vehicles.  Or some of them, at least.

Well, being Winner’s part-time pilot and spy certainly would have given him a shot at tagging the scumbag’s cars and planes.  Fucking hellfire.  If this clown was for real, then he was one of my new favorite people.

Wufei shrugged me off of his shoulder as he pulled out his phone yet again.  

”You’re spending more time on that thing than with me,” I complained.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”  The words slipped out before I knew it and Wufei looked up.  His inscrutable expression met my own wide-eyed, startled gaze.  

He smirked. “I sincerely hope you do.”  He thumbed the iPhone screen and angled the device between us so I could hear the conversation.  It was brief, but telling.  ”Head’s up.  The Misty Falls Hotel has been compromised.  Evacuate personnel.”

I brought out my own phone and texted a brief report on the bomb disposal to Sally.  Told her who we were currently hanging with and the party favors he was toting.

She answered: “I’m sending a team to assist Smith.  Car is returning for you and Chang.”

I sighed heavily.  It looked like our part in this little adventure is over.  I could see Sally’s point, though.  Chang and I were the juiciest targets out here today aside from the Silencer and Sicarian.  It was best if we kept moving, letting Winner’s fey see us and try to trap us, only to (hopefully) be caught themselves.

Still, it was a bitch to imagine Meiran out there kicking ass and taking prisoners in our wake.  And it was driving me nuts that I hadn’t heard from or about Duo, but we really were in the middle of a battle.  Hard to believe, but true.

When the car pulled up, Wufei and I ducked into the back seat like movie stars epic failing at being stealthy.  I could feel the gazes on us.  The ratio of friend to foe, though, remained a mystery.

Our driver took us to the middle of town, where he meandered at a measly 20 miles per hour, windshield wipers swishing with sickening regularity -- more or less walking us through the town like he was giving some kind of fucking historical tour when in fact he was passing on updates to us that he was receiving via earwick:

“Seven Winner vehicles all parked near load-bearing areas in the Misty Falls Hotel parking garage.”

Shit, those were the cluster of little red dots we’d seen on Howard’s app.

“Negative for explosives.  Positive for gas.  Variety unknown.”

In the distance, I could hear the oncoming wail of a siren.  Someone had called it in.  But would there be enough time to evacuate the building and surrounding streets?

I didn’t know.  Wasn’t in the know.  And it fucking _burned._

“If Duo is anywhere near that place…!” I hissed, my fists clenching.

Wufei grabbed my wrist.  Held on.  Tight enough to bruise.  “Stop.  Don’t think it, Solo.  This is part of the strategy.”

OK, yeah.  Had to be.  The clan was gonna let this one slide because there was a good chance no one was gonna get seriously hurt.  And also, in the wake of the chaos, Winner’s people were sure to make a move.  Either to get to Po and her captains or to us.  Or maybe even to the resistance facility itself.

A fire truck blasted past and I prayed we were ready for this.

With each breath, another siren joined the streets, downing out the falls and twisting the morbid curiosity of the sightseers into genuine fear.  The people took to the streets, but seemed uncertain of where to go.  The smarter ones returned to the parking lots and their cars.  Others flocked to tourist information centers.  I could practically see it when the social media posts started rolling across cellphone screens.  People stopped taking photos of the falls -- forgot about them completely as they focused on their electronic lifeline.  Who knew if the information was accurate or not.  I doubt anyone cared so long as they had something to respond to.

I envied them, to be honest.

“Follow the fey,” our driver ordered as he abruptly pulled over and commanded us to get out.  We didn’t have time to ask for specifics -- after all, Wufei and I had known that we might be working with the resistance fey at some point… still, it was a shock for the clan to finally be coordinating something with them.

“Enemy of my enemy,” I summed up as we stepped into a gaggle of unfamiliar faces, definitely fey by the odd shiver I could feel along my spine (that had nothing to do with the rain) and the tension in Wufei, and followed their hurried progress down to the corner, over a crosswalk, and into a department store.  Through the luxury goods section and toward a public restroom where Clan Chinese took over, herding us to a service exit.

The clan members in front of us powered through the door into the alley beyond, but Wufei and I were directed along another passage, meandering along in the guts of the store, making one turn after another, toward a set of stairs.  Down we went into the basement.  And down some more into the parking garage.  Into a waiting car.  With a glance, I knew that our driver was not clan.  But a glance was all I got before we were climbing out onto the street again and turning into an area that clearly provided services to the locals and not the honeymooners.  We pulled around behind a small hardware store.

Well.  I guess someone was gonna be doing a little DIY.  With sharp, pointy, metal objects.  Yeah, this was gonna be fun.

Another set of doors marked “Employees Only” and more dusty corridors.  Stark steps, another basement, and a hidden trap door.

“The hell is this?” I bitched.

“A warm welcome to the resistance.”

I looked up at the sound of that familiar voice.  Gaped.  Gulped.  Holy hellfire.  Trowa, my little brother’s husband, was totally and one-hundred percent-- “The Silencer.”

He uncrossed his arms and stood from the bored slouch he’d been affecting against the cinder block wall.  Jesus, he was tall.  And big.  And thirty-something if he was a day.  And if I was reading that jumpsuit right, totally ready to kick ass. 

I demanded, “Where’s Duo?”

“Safe.  Follow me.”

“Wait,” Wufei said, grabbing my arm.  He gave the Silencer a long, hard look.  ”Show us the feykin.”

The Silencer arched a brow.  “Do I have need of it?”

“Seeing it would help convince us that you are who you appear to be.”

“Whoa, seriously?” I coughed out.  “Just look at him, man.”

“I am.”

He was.  Hell, he wasn’t even blinking.

The implications -- there were fey that could impersonate someone this accurately, in face and voice and mannerisms? -- quietly blew my mind.  Even if this actually was my brother-in-law, Chang knew about fey who could… I mean… Jesus.

The Silencer shrugged one shoulder in that fucking I-don’t-give-a-shit superior way of his.  Damn.  I had to be looking at the real Trowa deal here.

“Go back to Sally Po if you’re concerned.  I won’t stop you.”

He turned away, calling Wufei’s bluff, and the light fell across his temple, revealing a faint slash of green that now marked his skin.  Now, most days, I might not be Mr. Observant, but I hadn’t seen much beyond four faces for the last month and I knew each of them extremely well.  Plus the fact that what I’d thought were tattoos on Trowa’s cheek and hand were actually scars had piqued my interest.  Who had given him those deep wounds and why?  What did the designs mean and why hadn’t Trowa been able to heal them even after he’d regained his power?  I suppose you could say that I’d spent the last month or so studying my brother-in-law’s face, so I knew I was seeing something that hadn’t been there before.  “Hey, that’s a new scar.  How’d you get it?” I challenged.

He paused.  Looked back over his shoulder.  “How do you think?”

Evasive much?

Neither Wufei nor I budged.

But the Silencer didn’t step away into the darkness of the concrete tunnel beyond.  He waited.

The Trowa I knew waited for no human... except Duo.  And whatever or whoever Duo needed in his life would be hauled along by whatever appendage happened to be within range.  There would be no hesitating.  No dithering.  Not at a time like this.  So, either something had changed him in a major way or Wufei’s suspicions were correct.

It was Wufei, in fact, who spoke next, “You’re far more likely to gain our cooperation if you show us your true form.”

The Silencer turned away, shoulders stiff, and then let out a long breath.  “Very well.  I was sent to ensure your safety and--”

I blinked as the form, both figure and clothing, changed before my very eyes.  Morphed into a barely-legal-age female fey with short, spiky black hair and an oval-shaped face.  A leather jacket that put me in mind of MJ’s Thriller video and a smiley face T-shirt.  Ripped stonewashed jeans.  Somebody was stuck in permanent 1988 flashback mode.

“--you are free to go back, but the Silencer invites you to come forward.”

“Why?” I dared her to impress me.

“We’ve captured a fey claiming to be Quatre Winner.”

“Is he?” Wufei demanded.

The fey shrugged.  “We shall see.”  She tilted her head toward the tunnel in invitation.

Sure, OK.  If Trowa was still here, then this wasn’t looking much like the original plan, which had Duo and Trowa pretty much joined at the hip and nowhere near crossing paths with me and Chang, but like hell I was gonna turn down the chance to contribute to the Wiener getting some just desserts.  

“Yes.  Yes, we will,” I agreed -- and ignored Wufei’s belabored sigh -- and inquired, “What do you call yourself?”

“Hilde,” she replied with a dimpled grin.

Hilde.  How did I know that name?  “You work with Heero and Sylvia?”  As soon as the words popped out, I knew it was true -- “Hilde” had been the name of the pilot trailing Treize’s jet to Maine back when Duo had been missing.

She allowed, “I work with them so long as they are loyal to the Silencer.”

“Are fey capable of such a thing?” Chang inquired, his tone pure academic curiosity where Meiran’s would have been scathing.

Hilde tilted her head to the side.  “Why wouldn’t we be loyal to someone who can heal us before death and summoning erases all memory of our existence and we become the gullible, misinformed property of a master again?  The question isn’t how we can be loyal to the Silencer, but why aren’t all fey?”

That was actually a pretty good question.  One that Chang hadn’t really considered before, I could tell.

She angled her chin up defiantly.  “You know so little about us, hunter,” she informed Chang.  “Your battle is with the masters, but it is us -- the nescient -- the __naive__  who you slaughter.”  She paused.  Looked from me to Wufei.  When she spoke again, her voice was weighed with immovable challenge:

“Are you ready to face your true enemy?”

It went without saying that she was.

I cleared my throat.  “Ready or not, shit’s gotta get done, right?”

Her grin was impish.  “Yup.”

“Take us to see Winner,” Wufei requested and she turned on her heel, disappearing into the gloom of the tunnel.

We followed, and we both flinched at the grating shriek of the metal locking mechanism: we were committed to seeing this through now, come what may.

So, down we went.  The scent of metal dust and axle grease faded quickly.  Within paces, the even floor gave way to roughly quarried rock.  Wufei angled his cell phone screen toward the path at our feet.  I aimed mine at the low ceiling and prayed I had enough juice in the battery to make it to the end of this little journey-to-the-center-of-the-falls.  Or wherever the hell we were going.

Above us, the battle was still going on in the streets of the town, around clueless tourists and oblivious shopkeepers and staff.  Hellfire and fucking damnation.  What had we done?  What had we gone and started?  Poking Winner in the proverbial eye… were we insane?

“He did this,” I heard Wufei breathe in the close, damp passage.  “Not us.  This is Winner’s doing.”

“Talking to myself again, huh?”

“Muttering,” he admitted, his gaze still trained on the uneven footing ahead.

I blinked.  “I don’t mutter.”  Old farts on park benches covered in pigeon shit muttered.

“Fine,” he capitulated.  “You breathe heavily and sometimes there are actual words interspersed.”

“Jesus Christ, who actually uses words like ‘interspersed’?”

“I did.  Just now.  Pay attention, Maxwell.”

“Make me, Chang--oomph!”

I blinked yet again as his forearm pressed across my chest and he slammed me against the curved wall.  The top of my skull banged hard against the arched ceiling.  “Ouch, you f--”

I didn’t get the expletive out before he lunged forward and something covered my mouth.  Something soft and warm and lip-like covered my mouth.  Was he--I mean--like-- _kissing me?_

He shifted back before I could process what was actually happening and I glimpsed that fucking superior look on his face -- that I-don’t-expect-you-to-understand-any-of-this-you-nitwit look.

“Keep it together,” he counseled in a tone that was almost gentle.  “We’ll have news of your brother soon.”

And revenge on the sonuvabitch who killed our parents shortly thereafter.  Priorities, Maxwell.  Priorities.

“Yeah,” I agreed.  “Let’s do this.”

We resumed our trek, cell phone screens angled to illuminate the way ahead.  If our shoulders bumped or our free hands brushed, well, I guess it could only be expected in such a tight space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure there's something I want to say here about all this, but it's after midnight and I'm zombified. Comment at me, people, lest my motivation for the edit/update process fizzle out.
> 
> March 3, 2017: A special thanks goes out to GoodIdeaAtTheTime for the lovely little lesson on British swear words. Muchly appreciated, my friend!


	6. The Battle Continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains descriptions of TORTURE. So, dive in a minimum of 20 minutes after eating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wufei POV 
> 
> Battle theme music: “Burn It Down” by Linkin Park
> 
> Hilde’s speech (male voice, but just imagine Hilde rousing the troops) & Hilde’s badass theme music: “Wretches And Kings” by Linkin Park
> 
> Wufei’s theme music: “In My Remains” by Linkin Park

The inner sanctum.

I was here and I was seeing what no one in all the clans had ever witnessed before: proof of the fey resistance.  The subterranean, sprawling megalith of concrete and rusty iron fixtures was real.  Unremarkable corridors lined with massive, water-tight, bulkhead doors, all sealed.  All concealing unique spaces from prying eyes.  To say I was curious as to what secrets lie within each nook and cranny of this structure would be a laughable understatement.  But my curiosity did not lessen my awe.  I was here.  Here in this monumental moment.  Made possible thanks to my association with the Maxwell brothers.

A perfect opportunity, Merian and many others would call it.

“What the hell is this bullshit?”

I spun about and quickly took in the source of Maxwell’s affront: the fey called Hilde was gesturing us toward an open metal door which revealed a disappointingly spartan living space on the other side of the threshold.

Bullshit, indeed.

“This is the waiting room,” she supplied with a smile.  “The Silencer will be with you shortly.”

“No way, sister,” Maxwell curtly refused.  “Take us to where Winner is or take us the hell back the way we came.”

I arched my brows at the ultimatum.  I was curious as to what our guide would make of it and I was ready to back Maxwell’s bluster with a show of force of my own if necessary.

“I strongly advise against it,” she insisted.

“This ain’t up for negotiation.”

A moment stretched out between us.  Drew taut.  Frayed.  Broke.

She shrugged and swung the door shut with a resounding __clang!__ “Okie dokie.  Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

She leapt down the metal steps and moved quickly down the corridor.  Maxwell and I shared a look and followed after her down the echoingly vacant expanse.  Six paces later, she stopped, turned toward a sealed hatch, wrenched it open, led us over the raised threshold and along a different, yet utterly unremarkable corridor.  I endeavored to commit our route to memory, studied every feature I could see, but it was utterly empty of landmarks or distinguishing features.

A right turn, then left, then another left.  Just as the Dragon Clan Headquarters in London was a maze, so was this.  Suddenly, my curiosity twisted and spiraled into suspicion.  My jaw clenched and my spine itched with every closed portal we passed and I wondered if this would be the one; the one that would burst open and from which our enemies would pour out.  To my mind, every step was a step that could be our last.

Oh, Maxwell and I would fight.  I still had the _jian,_ retrieved from the car following our informed interlude at the coffee shop, and I was thankful for its ornamental sheathe, which the average person would assume concealed a costume piece of weaponry and not a blade that had beheaded hundreds of fey.  (And if necessary, would behead even more in the time to come.)  Yes, I was prepared for a fight.

As was Maxwell.  Although he did not possess any formidable weapons — certainly nothing in the supply pack could be deemed lethal — anyone who stood between Solo and his brother would be force-fed his incredible fury.  Yes, if it came to it, we would fight.

But we would undoubtedly lose.  Two against however-many fey this structure might hold and with every twist and turn and pair of opposing metal doors, that estimation only grew.

We — the clans — had been fools to discount the rumors of a fey resistance.  Fools to allow the nameless healer who had stood with the Pos generations ago against certain destruction to fall from memory, fools to not realize and appreciate that healer’s true power.  The female fey, our guide, had worded it well, indeed: why wouldn’t a fey pledge its loyalty to someone who could guarantee its continued and uninterrupted existence, someone who enabled a fey to keep and build upon its memories?

Knowledge, after all, is power.  In this one thing, it was obvious that both fey and humans could agree.

One more turn — a right — opened into a three-story, open space ringed with more rusty catwalks and constructed in the ever-undeviating concrete.  The were long tables and benches.  This was, perhaps, the public hall.  With a glance, I counted how many beings this space could accommodate and fury washed over me: fury at my own stupidity.  How had I not inferred that this force — this veritable army of fey — existed?

“Holy hellfire.  What the hell happened in here?”

I glanced toward the only empty space in the room: a circular area about the size of the tai chi ring back at Master O’s farmhouse.  Broken bits of cement.  Dried splatters and even a sizable puddle of darkened-dry green fey blood.

The female fey replied, “The Silencer took back what is his.”  Again that damnable grin.  “Ask to see the video later if you’re interested.”

“Holy fuck.  Who—?”

“Heero Yuy.”

“Oh, Jesus.  Is he dead?”

She laughed.  It was grossly unfair that a creature such as her could force mortals to feel delighted by the sound.  But there were a number of predators in nature who wielded a form of bait that was appealing to their prey.  

“Not for lack of trying” was her cryptic reply.

We traversed the room toward yet another door and I was just as glad to get out of that open space as I was wary of yet another bulkhead-lined corridor.  Solo checked his watch, but said nothing until, after a myriad of right turns, we were directed to a set of stairs that funneled us even deeper into the earth.  

“Where the hell are we going?” Maxwell complained.

Despite the irritating delivery, it was a question that I, too, desired to know the answer to.

“The workshop,” she replied accommodatingly.  “Where the Silencer is, ah, hosting Winner.”  This she added with a glittering glance over her shoulder, her lips curved into a smile that revealed sharp teeth.

Solo stiffened as he caught her meaning.  Anticipation surged through me, mixing with my distrust of the situation and stringing my nerves out on a rack that burned.  We were going to see a fey interrogation by another fey.  Something that, to my knowledge, had been neither witnessed nor documented in recorded history.  But no, this was no ordinary interrogation, not if the Silencer himself was conducting it.  And I suspected he was.

When the steps ceased their downward march and began to climb, I readily accepted the challenge, my eagerness only marginally overcoming my reservations.

We arrived in yet another corridor lined with metal doors.  Waited as the female fey wrenched the wheel-lock shut in our wake.

She tilted her head to the left.  “This way.”

Two additional indistinguishable portals later, we entered a small, dim room.  There was a window along the far wall.

“Where are we?” Maxwell wanted to know.

“The workshop area,” the fey said.

“Yeah, I remember you sayin’ something about that being our destination.  I mean, are we in town?  Under it?”

“Ah.”  She smirked.  “Actually, this reminds me.  I forgot: welcome to Canada.”

Solo blinked at her.  I was impressed but not wholly unsurprised.

She invited us to enter: “Well, you came to see the show, didn’t you?”

I accepted her invitation and crossed the dingy, grey floor to see what lay beyond the window.  It was a simple interrogation room.  Concrete walls.  A long metal table bolted to the floor.  A bulkhead door with a handle but no locking bar on the inside.  Upon that table sat a single figure with his legs casually crossed and dangling over the edge.  He inspected his nails with nonchalance.  Sighed with boredom.  Looked up at the single light in the high ceiling.  His lips twisted into a moue of disgust as his blue eyes squinted critically and his blond hair shifted away from his upturned face.

Quatre Winner.

“I want in.  Like, now.  Make it happen,” Solo ordered the fey.

She giggled.  “Tell me, what would you do to him.  Sock him in the jaw?  Kick him in the nads?”

Solo glared.  Yes, he should have appropriated a pair of needle-nose pliers, a roll of barbed wire, and a ball-peen hammer from the hardware store before we’d started our descent.  Even the __jian__ I carried would be insufficient to the task of making that monster suffer for his crimes; it would be useful only when Maxwell deemed it time to put the creature out of its misery.

“Be patient,” the fey advised.  “I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”

With a heavy breath of capitulation, Solo braced both hands on the window ledge and leaned forward.  He stared hard at Winner, perhaps wondering how such a being could do the things he had done: the slaughter of countless Maxwells in his search for the Caerlaverock descendants and his betrayal of Duo which had led to the emergence of the Sicarian.  Not to mention the unpleasantness Solo had eluded to between this particular fey and his brother-in-law, Trowa.

Solo’s fury on the fey’s behalf had surprised me.  Initially.

In the weeks I’d spent living in close proximity to Duo Maxwell’s fey husband and consort, I’d come to realize that the creature was capable of companionship.  Perhaps he’d joined my sessions with Duo out of jealousy, but if so, he’d hidden it well.  However, there had been no cause for jealousy in the afternoons he’d spent on the front porch beside the Sicarian, unable to touch.  Only talk.  I had not attempted to intrude upon those times, but I had heard the indistinct baritone of his quiet voice as they’d spoken.  As they’d shared what they could of themselves.

Perhaps I was witnessing possession, I’d thought.  But the creature had never tried to delay or prevent his companion from working out with his older brother.  Not once.  Despite the creature’s relatively young age, he’d been remarkably undemanding of Duo’s time.

He also appeared to be capable of consideration.  He had never invaded my privacy or made himself a bothersome obstacle as I’d done my best to keep my word to his companion: attempting to teach the younger Maxwell how to calm his mind, reach for and attain a level of control that would aid him.

What other positive emotions Trowa Maxwell was capable of — human emotions — I could not say.

I had seen his desperation to reach Duo in New York, but I had also seen his feral nature unleashed.  I’d seen how his unblinking stare had tracked Duo’s every move upon the young man’s miraculous return.

I had heard the soft squeal of mattress springs through the thin walls of the farmhouse and his companion’s groans of pleasure.  But I had also seen the gleam of something like pride or lust in those green eyes when they focused on his spouse.

Trowa Maxwell could hate.  I’d seen it in the unchecked sneer that had contorted his usually stoic face as we’d debated how best to confront Winner.  He could appear aloof, but I didn’t doubt that it was in his nature to be grasping, manipulative, and vicious.  Was his tenderness toward his companion merely a means to an end?

Perhaps it was.

The thought was comforting rather than revolting.  If there existed any kindness in this creature, he might falter in the hours and days ahead.  Solo, Duo, and myself were human.  We were prone to disgust at the sight of pure viciousness.  We needed someone who was not; someone who was truly merciless.

I glanced at Solo.  I knew why he’d demanded to be here, to see this: it wasn’t only about revenge, but about reminding himself that his little brother was in good hands.  Strong and caring hands.  Personally, I was hoping for something far different.

_Show us what cruelty you are capable of, Trowa Maxwell._

Just then, the seal on the interrogation room door gave way with a metallic crack.  It cranked open and the Silencer entered.  I scanned him from the top of his head to the tip of his boots.  The female fey had copied his form exactly.  He truly was nearly two meters tall, broad in the shoulders and chest.  Long arms and legs.  A fighter in his prime.

Solo stood quickly, shocked by the sight of him.

“My friend!” Winner enthused, gifting his visitor with a smile.  “It is so good to see you again.”

“Quatre.”

His voice was unchanged.  Soft and deadly.

“I must admit; I’ve been curious about this little place of yours.”

The Silencer said nothing as he approached the table with measured steps.

“Would you consider giving me a tour?” Winner continued chattily.

The Silencer stopped.  Stared coldly at his captive.

A heartbeat, and then another passed in silence.  And then—

All civility disappeared, was shredded and torn by their emerging bloodlust.  The sharp teeth and shining eyes.  The curled fingers that were somehow also claws.  At my side, Solo flinched, but I had seen this before.

They moved fast. Clashed.  Briefly but brutally.  Winner landed on his back upon the table.  The ripped remnants of his dress shirt were already stained from the bloody clawmarks across his belly where the Silencer had not bothered to restrain his strike.  Winner continued to fight, scrabbling at the Silencer’s sleeves and the flesh beneath, but there was no fey-green blood to darken the abused cloth.  

The Silencer healed the wounds before they bled.  

Did he even feel the pain, I wondered.

Winner kicked and writhed.  Rent the cloth of his captor’s jumpsuit.

The Silencer was oblivious to his struggles.  He leaned his weight into the hand splayed over Winner’s heaving chest and reached for the glimmer of metal tucked into the back of his belt.

A feykin.

The Silencer angled the tip of the blade against the fey’s left eye.  “Shift,” he ordered.

A snarl was his captive’s reply.

The Silencer grinned and I heard Solo gulp at the sight of those sharp, pointed teeth.  The tip of the feykin glided lightly over Winner’s cheek, along his throat, over his heart, and down over his ribs.

“No!” the creature ordered, groping for the knife.

I did not see the blade pierce Winner’s side.  I only saw the sudden bunching of the Silencer’s shoulders.  Heard the scream of agony echo against the concrete walls and high ceiling.

Solo shrank back from the glass, repulsed in spite of his thirst for revenge.

Very gently, slowly, the Silencer slid the blade out of his prisoner.  Green blood pulsed out.  Winner was breathless and dazed with pain.  Incapable of even feeble movement.

Upon the pale chest, the splayed hand glowed with power and the Silencer gradually healed the wound until panting breaths bracketed pitiful whimpers.

“Shift,” the Silencer repeated, voice still soft, still cold.

Winner shook his head, damp tresses sticking to his forehead.  He reached for the feykin yet again, tried to brace himself away from the hand that held it.  In vain.

His scream was that of a frantic animal undergoing burning torment.  The intensity of it brought gooseflesh to my arms and I watched as this time the blade was slowly inserted into the barely-healed wound.

Again came the order to shift.

Again it was denied.

The blade was removed once more and, as the Silencer began to heal the wound, I inquired of our guide, “What does he mean by that?  Shift?”

She ignored the question, watching the scene on the other side of the window with unabashed glee.

I turned back at the sound of the Silencer’s voice: “Do it.”

“No-o-oooo!”

The blade went in.  His victim’s scream clawed and scraped at the walls, made the window thrum and my eardrums vibrate until I winced at the pure excruciating quality of it.  Eventually, Winner’s breath was exhausted and he lay there, pinned and barely breathing, eyes wide and unseeing, hair slick with sweat.

“Jesus,” Solo swore, swallowing thickly.  Bile, I was sure.  “How long can this go on?” Solo demanded as the blade was drawn out with glacial slowness and the Silencer’s fingers glowed with healing energy.  Simultaneously.

The female fey shrugged.  “Days.”

“Has anyone ever lasted days?” he wanted to know.

Her grin widened.  “Nope.”

Neither of us asked what the current record was.

“After an hour or so, the Silencer usually takes a break.  Business, y’know,” she volunteered.  “Besides, it gives his _guest_  a little perspective, some time to truly appreciate… things.”

“Oh, God,” Solo breathed.  He squeezed his eyes shut as the general of the resistance loomed over the mewling figure once more.  Solo’s self-imposed respite was brief.  In the next instant, he opened his eyes.  Forced himself to witness the next slow, deep slide of the gleaming blade.

The Silencer’s hand and the knife’s hilt were splattered with blood, but his grip did not slip.

There came yet another piercing cry.  I had taken for granted that I understood the term.  How pathetic my imagination was compared to the reality.

Breathless pleas.

Agonized wails.

Fruitless begging.

All terms I was truly learning for the first time in my life.

And then something happened.  I blinked and focused hard on Winner’s pale face, on his expression of mindless torment.

The blond hair lengthened, darkened.  And then it was blond again.

The general viciously rotated the tip of the blade deep within his prey and the sound his victim produced had me cringing alongside Solo.  But we watched.  We saw it the moment Winner’s face and form slid from the creature’s being.  We stared at the helpless, bloody fey that was laid out upon the metal table.

It was not Winner at all, but one of his loyal fey.

“A mock,” I realized.  I had read about fey who could impersonate other fey and even humans.  When our guide had performed this feat, I had known there was a word for their kind.  It had chosen this moment to come to me.  “It’s a mock.”

“A pretty talented one,” the female fey evaluated clinically, “to hold out nine times.”

“You think you’d do better?” Solo challenged weakly.

She turned and looked at him, long and hard.  Before she could reply, the Silencer yanked the blade free and, sparing the briefest of moments to heal the wound he’d inflicted, he then turned on his heel.  The door opened before he reached it, slammed shut and locked in his wake.  An instant later, the door to the observation room opened.

Heero Yuy, older than when I’d last seen him, and the Silencer entered, absently wiping the fey blood from the weapon with a pragmatically dark green hand towel.  Both froze at the sight of us.  For a long moment, no one said a word, and I watched as, amazingly, the general of the resistance met his brother-in-law’s shocked and sickened gaze… and was somehow Trowa once again.  His age did not change, but there was a visible thaw, a flicker of regret that swelled into a roaring tide of anger.

He turned to our guide and informed her shortly, “This is not acceptable.”

She flinched in the face of his fury.

He slid the gleaming blade into his belt, scrubbed briefly at his right hand, then shoved the used towel against Yuy’s chest.  “Get out.  Both of you.”

The fey left.  Interestingly, I was allowed to remain.

Trowa returned his attention to Solo.  Meanwhile, Solo was staring hard at the fey’s blood-smeared hand.  I was tempted to speak — I had so many questions — but it was not my place.  From the other room, the captive wailed and whimpered, cried and mewled.  Not completely healed, after all.  Either that or the memory of the pain was so intense that it still haunted him.

I recalled the moment on the London Tube when Trowa had been stabbed and how he’d folded into Duo’s arms, sought his companion’s touch like it was his only link to sanity.

Perhaps it had been.

The fey in the other room, however, was clearly not as lucky.

But then I recalled the Silencer’s healing abilities, which I had seen with my own eyes, so why hadn’t he used them on the train?  Perhaps he hadn’t been able to?  Because of the nature of the wound or—

“Duo would be disappointed,” the fey said quietly, chastising himself.

I blinked with shock at the implications.

Solo drew a deep breath, lifted an arm and rubbed his rain-dampened jacket cuffs over his steamy eyes.  He dropped his hand and further surprised me by saying, “No.  He’d understand.  So that’s what I’m trying to do.”

And from his tone, Solo wasn’t going to force Duo’s husband to explain it to him.

Trowa blinked slowly.  His head bowed.  “Thank you.”

“Speaking of Duo,” Solo rallied.  “Where the hell is he?”

The fey’s face twitched — a tic pulled at his cheek and he lifted his fingers to rub at his scalp.  “He is not here, but he is safe.  With Sylvia.”

“With Sylvia.  When did this happen?  Last I heard, you didn’t trust her any further than you could throw her.”

“She owes Duo a large debt.  He’s safe with her,” the fey insisted, dropping his hand.

“OK,” Solo said though I knew it wasn’t.  He wanted more details, but this was not the time for it.

I observed, “It would appear that we do not have Winner in custody.”

“We do not,” the fey agreed, turning his attention briefly to his watch and frowning at his shredded shirtsleeves.   Rolling the tattered remains up past his elbows, he moved toward the door.  “Come.”

We followed him out into the hall, nearly jogging to keep up with his long strides.  Time was indeed of the essence.  The prisoner had distracted us, bought time.  For what?

I could hazard a few guesses.  “How much time do we have?” I asked.

“Time before what?” Solo asked.

Trowa answered, “It depends on how long they believe their mock can hold out against me.”

Solo shuddered.  “You’ve done this before, yeah?”

His brother-in-law shrugged one shoulder.  “Enough that Winner can make an educated guess.”

“I need to contact Po and Master O,” I inserted before Maxwell could pick the admission apart and figure out just how integral a part of the Silencer cold-hearted, calculated torture was.  I myself was not disappointed.

“I will take you up so you can make the calls.”

“What—you ain’t got a phone down here?”

The Silencer gave Solo a sideways glance as he reached out to open a portal.  “We do.”

But what would be the point of using it?  Certainly, Winner could trace the signal as easily as the New York clan had — and the fey currently in custody had most certainly been implanted with some sort of tracking chip — but what good would all that be if Winner didn’t know __how__  to gain entrance?  After all, we were obliged to give them something to attack.  Showing off Maxwell and myself would certainly suffice.

I imagined that two other mocks would have impersonated us earlier, entering the resistance HQ at some conveniently defensible access point.  I imagined that the Silencer’s fey would attempt to divide Winner’s forces between at least two points, draw them in, and then move to flank them.

Maxwell was not a strategist; that was clear in the beetling of his brow as he tried to puzzle out Trowa’s logic.  If he didn’t work it out for himself as events unfolded, it would undoubtedly fall to me to explain it to him later.

I was surprisingly unbothered by the thought.

But then, I had just kissed the man.  Clearly, I wasn’t wholly repelled by his company.  I supposed I never had been.

I’d always known how unrelentingly courageous he was.  It was there in his dark blue eyes.  Right alongside a surprising measure of perceptive understanding that he demonstrated with blunt words and action whenever he witnessed pure human stupidity.  Whether his counsel was well-received or not was irrelevant.  Solo Maxwell did not back down.

How exhausting was it to spar ceaselessly against the very universe?  Maxwell was contrarily tireless.

Of all things to admire about a human being.

I focused on my feet as the path before us gradually grew more mossy and narrow.  We turned a corner and not three meters ahead of us was a door.  Not another bulkhead.  This was a basic, metal service door.

Trowa paused, checked his watch, and then swung the door open.  “You have five minutes,” he informed me.

I moved toward the roar of water and found myself in a bland corridor just off what appeared to be a lobby.  I scanned the Maid of the Mist posters and other sightseeing paraphinalia as I pulled out my phone.  I glimpsed the corner of a ticket booth that faced a pathway that was currently empty.  I checked the time and understood.  The last Maid of the Mist tour had long since been completed.  We were probably the only ones here.

“Huh,” Solo observed.  He poked around the corner and crowed, “Hot damn!  A genuine restroom.  I gotta drop a load.”

I finished rolling my eyes before I placed the Skype call to Mistress Po.

“Wufei,” she greeted after a worringly long minute of uninterrupted ringing.  “Go ahead.”

Trowa winced and once again reached up to massage his scalp in the same spot as earlier.  I tried to recall if I’d ever seen the fey endure a headache before as I began a slow meander around the lobby.  She would surely see enough in the background to guess where we currently were.  “Winner has not been acquired.  He sent a mock decoy.”

She nodded, looking both irritated and determined at the news.  “Copy that.  Watch your back.”

“We will,” I replied.  I hung up before I could give in to the temptation to ask about their progress.

My next call was to Master O.  The fact that he answered within ten seconds was encouraging.

“How are things?” I inquired obliquely.

“Secure,” he replied.  “Though Winner is not present.”

No, I wouldn’t have thought he’d lounge about in his Boston mansion while it was being infiltrated and overtaken by Master O’s people.

“No sighting here as yet,” I informed him.

“We should speak to his attorney, Lucrezia Noin,” he advised.  “She may have some knowledge of his other properties.”

“Acknowledged.”

Maxwell returned, rubbing his just-washed hands over the backseat of his jeans as I disconnected the call.  “Do we have time for a coupla selfies?”

I snorted.

“No,” the Silencer informed us, opening the door wider.

We took him up on the invitation, returning to the embrace of the cliff out of which the impressive installation had been carved.  At the end of the roughly-hewn corridor, we re-entered the same bulkhead, but did not turn back the way we’d come.  We continued on straight ahead through one more portal.

“Eat something,” he ordered rather than invited, leading us into a large room.  It was a narrower but higher version of the one we’d seen earlier — the one that could have been a banquet hall except for the fight ring at its center.  This space rose four levels instead of three and the catwalks of metal grating were lined with sealed bulkhead doors.  There was one clear entrance and, on the opposite end of the ground floor, one exit.  In between were a diagonal arrangement of long, metal tables and a long sink running along both left and right-side walls.

“Hey, Tro-bro.  You got a headache or somethin’?”

I abandoned my visual survey and glanced toward the fey.  Yet again, he was rubbing at his head, above the left ear and along his crown.

“Or something,” he selected from his available choices.

When he did not attempt to down-play his discomfort or reassure us, Solo doggedly pursued, “What’s up, then?  Ya take knock to the head in that fight with Yuy?”

“Of course not,” he replied, dropping his hand.

“I hear there’s a video of it floatin’ around.”

The fey gave him a long look.  Evaluating him.  “Yes.  It is… how do you say?… graphic.”

“Yeah, I figured that from the scene in the other room.  The aftermath.”  Solo’s eyes narrowed.  “Duo see any of it?”

“All of it.”

“Was he cool with that?  I mean—he’s OK with you, being all, ah…”

“It is thanks to him that Yuy is still alive.  So regardless of how comfortable he is with the fact that I can kill, it does not impede him from taking action.”  Before Solo could spit out the question I could see him chewing on, the fey added, “In public or private.”

“Ah.  So you an’ my brother are good.”  It was almost a question.

“Yes.  Very good.  As ever.”

I smirked in response to Maxwell’s visible relief at the lack of details.

We stayed close to the Silencer as he washed the remaining smears of fey blood from his right hand.  Interestingly, he did not remove the fingerless glove on his left hand.  He collected the glove’s mate from one of the hip pockets of his jumpsuit and pulled it on.  He then fetched three metal bowls from the overhead shelf, scooped a measure of some sort of powder into each, and finally added water from the spigot.  He handed us our portions and an accompanying  large spoon.

“Stir well,” he advised, claiming a seat in the center of the empty room.

I ignored the grimace Maxwell was making at his slowly thickening gruel and sat across and slightly down from our host.  With a clatter, Solo’s dish settled on the table top across from his brother-in-law.  Maxwell’s knee jarred my arm as he crawled over the bench to take his seat, coinciding with my first bite of cold sustenance.

“Yo, Wu, when did this happen?  I thought you liked me,” Solo teased, mistaking my look of disgust.

I said nothing until he braved a taste of his own food, at which time I smirked.  Broadly.

“Eugh!  Oh my fucking—Jesus Christ this is—!”

“Yes?” Trowa inquired in between shoveling spoonfuls into his mouth.

“Uh… not what you normally eat,” Maxwell observed with sudden and impressive diplomacy.

The fey snorted.  “No, it is not.  It is, however, what we have.  It will sustain you through what is coming.”

“And, uh, what is coming?”

“Winner’s forces.  Through that door,” he nodded toward the bulkhead we’d just arrived through.  “Any minute now.”

Solo glanced back over his shoulder at the indicated portal.  “Damn.  You totally used us as bait.”

“No, I am _still_ using you as bait.  As well as myself.”

“So it looks like all the Maxwells are gonna see some fey battle action, huh?”  He absently took another bite of the cold gruel and shuddered.  “Damn.  You’re fucking dedicated to put up with this.”

A tiny, soft smile curved the fey’s lips as he glanced down at the contents of the metal bowl.  “Duo expressed some interest in remaining here once our work is done.”  He looked up and drove his point home: “And if that is what he desires, I will.”

Rather than bluster about just where and with whom his little brother would reside, Solo responded lightly, “Well.  I hope to God you change the menu.  This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

It truly was, but all three of us finished without further complaint or conversation.  Solo had just stood up and reached out a hand to collect my empty dish when a soft whistling noise stayed his hand.

Both he and I looked toward the door, frozen with confusion as the noise slowly grew in volume.

Suddenly, a large, green-scarred hand was grabbing the front of Solo’s jacket and an un-scarred second was tangling in the front of my shirt, hauling us both over the surface of the table.  We tumbled to the floor and I looked up in time to see Trowa shoulder the table over onto its side.  The edge bounced against the floor once and then—

The blast destroyed the far wall, spinning the dislocated bulkhead door like a quarter on its edge before it tumbled, squashing two benches and a table.  The concussive force caused our table to skid backwards, jamming into my shoulder.

I swiveled around, seeking better cover, and meet Maxwell’s wide-eyed expression.  

“—a fucking bazooka?” I read on his lips.  I could hear nothing; my ears were ringing.

Again, a pair of large, fey hands grabbed our clothing and dragged us to our feet.  Knowing there was little chance of getting close enough to use my __jian__  in this fight — not if our enemies had come equipped with military-grade artillery — I dashed after the Silencer.  His longer legs meant that Trowa arrived at the remaining bulkhead before either me or Solo.  He swung the door open before we had to slow down.  We leapt over the threshold just as my ears picked up the sharp pop of bullets, the clatter of hollow metal against the floor, and the gentle hiss of gas being released.

The door swung shut and the Silencer wrenched the lock shut.  Even that would not hold them off for long.

The fey spun toward a door on the right and wrenched it open for us.  Just in time.  Another blast rocked the structure and the door we’d just locked behind us flew no less than  three meters down the corridor.

Water-tight clearly did not equal missile-resistant.

The sound of gunfire faded as we raced after the general of the fey resistance.  This was proof of our utter faith in him, in the plans that he and Duo Maxwell must have refined upon reaching this hidden base.  I would never have guessed that I would willingly and gratefully place my life in the hands of a fey.  But I was.

We kept moving, no longer sprinting now, but running at a steady pace that all three of us could maintain for a considerable distance.  Again and again, the Silencer pulled ahead of us only to stop and pivot smartly to either the left or right, swing open a portal, and usher us through.

He did not bother to lock them — there was no time for that — and he made barely an effort to swing them shut in our wake.

We could hear the sound of boot tread striking concrete in our wake.  We could also hear the sound of additional doors swinging open behind us, the rapid staccato of gunshots as resistance fey covered our retreat.

But it quickly became apparent that we were not fleeing from an enemy that outmatched us.  We were drawing them in.

The Silencer had been correct when he’d claimed to be using us as bait.

“Shouldn’t we have some, y’know, Kevlar vests or some shit?” Solo panted as bullets cracked the cement close enough for us to hear the crumbs tumble to the floor.

“It’s taken care of,” Trowa promised.

We turned a corner and nearly smacked into three fey.  One of which was our guide from earlier.  The other two I did not recognize… until they shifted and I found myself staring into my own face as well as Solo’s.

“Fuck.  Me,” the true owner of the aforementioned identity breathed in amazement.

“This way,” the Silencer ordered as our doppelgangers took off through the opposite doorway.  Rather than risk the sound of the lock being overheard by our pursuers, Trowa shut but did not seal the door.  We moved quickly into another chamber and out of the line of sight.  As we did, I glimpsed a dozen fey, clad in tactical gear and carrying impressive fire arms moving to use that same doorway to launch their attack.  Which would drive our pursuers after the three mocks.

“OK,” Solo remarked.  “I get how this works now.”

“Do you?” I pressed.

He glanced at Trowa.  “Now we double back?”

“No.  Now we suit up,” he said, opening a doorway to an awe-inspiring armory.  “Then we double back.”

It was easy enough to locate black garments and gear in our respective sizes, but my _jian_  posed a dilemma.  Which Trowa solved by tossing an empty sniper rifle case in my direction.  “Leave it here if it will slow you down.”

My eyes narrowed.  “It won’t slow me down.”

And it didn’t.  But what did check our steps was the Silencer himself.  I was uncertain how close were were to an exit when, suddenly, we stumbled upon two slumped figures.  Maxwell and I obeyed the general’s outstretched hand warning us to stay back as he approached the fallen fey.  He pulled their gas masks off and ordered softly with a distinct hand gesture, “Shift.”

Again with that word.  What was its significance?  I was further puzzled when both fey immediately complied.  One became visibly younger and the other older.  The exposed tips of Trowa’s fingers glowed.  He healed them in an instant.  They murmured their thanks and yanked their masks back on, rushing past and back the way we’d come with militant purpose.

“Masks on,” he told us and waited for us to comply before fitting his own over his face.

He wrenched open the door that the injured fey had been ineffectually guarding and somehow I was not surprised to see a catwalk through a lingering, smokey haze.  We were back in the room where we’d eaten, only now we were two levels up.  A half dozen black-clad forms lay upon the metal grating and an additional four upon the grating over our heads.  

Trowa Maxwell examined the faces of each on this level, woke them with a sharp slap if necessary, and repeated the same hand gesture over and over above the visor of their gas masks — a nonverbal demand that they shift.  He healed all of them and, together, they dashed off into the compound, ready to continue the fight.

Back into the corridor we’d just left, a right turn, a set of stairs, and we emerged onto the highest catwalk where the other four fallen soldiers lay.  The Silencer healed three of them.  From the very human slump of his shoulders, I discerned that the fourth could not be saved.

Trowa signed briefly to the three fey, pointing to the body and then drawing the flat of his hand across the side of his own neck.  They nodded, crouched down to collect their comrade’s remains, and carried him with respect and grace from the catwalk.

I had more questions — certainly Solo would, too, at this display — but our masks prevented verbal communication.

We were the only ones in the room on any level now and I allowed myself a moment to take in the damage.  Most of the metal tables below had been bent, squashed, or twisted.  All had been tumbled over.  Cracks in the cement and bits of debris littered the floor.  I counted at least six used gas grenades.

The general tapped us on the shoulder and showed us to a seemingly random bulkhead.  Three turns later and we found ourselves in what appeared to be a maintenance tunnel.  When Trowa removed his gas mask, Solo and I did likewise.

“Sorry about your buddy,” Maxwell offered quietly.

The fey nodded.

“What’re ya gonna, I mean, is there gonna be a funeral, or…?”

“A summoning.”

I tensed.  “That will require a human sacrifice.”

Solo froze.

Trowa rolled his eyes.  “Do not tell me that there are no humans you would be glad to be rid of.”

“Well…” Maxwell waffled.

I spat, “Every human being is someone’s son or daughter.  Their child.  A mother and father’s child.”

The Silencer’s eyes narrowed.  “Then we will select some worthless mortal who no longer has either.”

“You—fucking hellfire,” Solo muttered in shock.

“You can try,” I dared the creature.

He stared back, expressionless.  How Duo Maxwell could tolerate — let alone claim to _love_ — this monster was beyond me.

He said, “Winner’s fey are being distracted at great cost by my people so that we may continue with our plans.  This will require that you trust me.  Or, failing that, that you trust me not to disappoint Duo.”

Clearly, this was not the time or place to discuss the moral implications of a fey summoning.  The fact that some hapless human had perished so that the fey standing before us could live turned my stomach.  But there was nothing for it at the moment except for me to swallow back my bile and forge ahead.

“We trust you not to get us or yourself killed,” Solo said, speaking for both of us, and I let him.  I nodded my agreement when those cold, green eyes once more focused on me.

Without a word — which was probably for the best under the circumstances — the Silencer pulled a flashlight from his tactical belt and aimed it ahead.  Maxwell and I utilized the same device supplied among our gear and followed swiftly.  Regardless of what I thought of their practices, the fey of the resistance were my allies.  The longer they were forced to redirect the enemy on our behalf, the greater the danger they would be in.

Meiran would have wasted as much time as possible.

It did not even occur to Solo to kill two birds with one stone.

As for myself, it was a matter of choice.  I chose to honor the vow I had made to my father before his death: minimize the loss of human life at all costs.

The route was long and curved subtly to the left.  I noticed this as my right shoulder would brush the wall time and time again.  As my right was my dominant side, it was natural for me to lead with a longer stride in that direction.  On a straight path, the difference would hardly be noticeable, but it was noticeable here.  Quite noticeable.  Hence, the tunnel we were in curved to the left.

Solo noticed as well.  “We’re behind the falls?  Heading back to the State-side?”

“Yes,” his brother-in-law replied.

At least we would not have to explain a lack of border stamps in our passports.  Although I was sure the fey had some sort of contingency in place for that as well.

When the tunnel came to an abrupt end, the Silencer transferred his flashlight to his mouth, gripping the handle with strong human-like teeth as he looked up.  I followed his gaze.

Ah.  A trapdoor of sorts.

The Silencer narrowed his eyes, gripped the pair of iron handles on either side of the featureless door, reared back and then swung his hips forward kicking the sheet of metal open with a satisfying _bang!_

The stench that wafted down to us was less so.

Maxwell gagged.  “What the fuck!”

The Silencer didn’t explain.  He didn’t have to.  Sewers have a very unique aroma.

I was certain that Maxwell was thinking of the gas masks we’d abandoned and missing its convenience as much as I was.

The fey swung himself up through the revealed hole.  When he extended a hand down to us, Solo grabbed it.  I allowed myself to be pulled up with one hand grasping the fey’s and the other in Maxwell’s.  Once I had my feet under me, both of Maxwell’s hands went to his face, pinching his nose shut.

“Where does Po want you?” Trowa asked me and I made the call.

 She gave me an address, which I repeated to our guide.

Ten minutes later, I was appreciatively drawing in fresh air and allowing the night breeze to scrub the stink of the sewer from my skin, hair, and clothing.  We were on a residential street.  A nearby street lamp negated the necessity of the flashlights.  I watched as the fey quietly closed the maintenance shed door behind us and marveled in silence.  The fey of the resistance truly controlled this entire area.  Could come and go as they pleased.  Anytime.  Seemingly anywhere.

If this was indicative of other groups of fey — this level of organization and infrastructure — it was a wonder that the clans had managed to protect humanity from learning of their existence at all.

Unless, of course, that had been the fey’s goal all along.

No.  I could not think it.  I could not endure the thought that all of our hard-won successes had been __allowed__  by our enemy.

Two streets down and over one block.  The Silencer led us through the shadows, avoiding motion-detecting lights with frightening precision.  How did he know let alone remember to account for each?

I was both awed and unsettled all over again.

With a gesture, Trowa indicated the address I’d requested.  The windows of the cozy bungalow were dark.  There was a real estate agent’s sign posted in the front yard.  For Sale.

It disturbed me that Po had chosen this as our meeting point.  Perhaps I was simply exhausted and that was why my mind was making strange, useless leaps.

“Upper left pocket,” the Silencer told us, cutting across my dark musings and turning our attention to our tactical vests.  “It contains a small ampule.  GPS tracker.  If things take an unexpected turn, bite through the fabric and swallow it.  Either I or my people will come for you.”

“Hey, ah, maybe you kinda noticed that we don’t have razor-sharp fey teeth, there, bud.”

“You won’t need them.”

“Just a lot of determination, huh?” Solo pressed.

“Yes.  Bite down and don’t let up.”

Maxwell was oddly quiet, looking at Trowa with a strange look in his eye.  As if he couldn’t decide whether to punch him in the face or laugh.

“Understood,” I said into the tense moment.  A pair of headlights appeared around the distant corner and cruised toward our position at the posted speed limit.

Solo moved forward, but not in order to slug his brother’s husband.  He extended his hand.  The Silencer looked at it before sliding his own into Solo’s grasp, and then stumbled forward as his brother-in-law yanked him into a tight hug.  “You damn well better take care of yourself, Tro-bro.  For Duo.”

“I will.”

Maxwell released him, gave him a nod and a farewell: “Thanks.  For everything.”

The fey tilted his head to the side.  “You know why I’m doing this.  No thanks are necessary.”

“See, that right there is what I _am_  thanking you for.”

I blinked, confused.

The fey smiled.  Not with bloodlust or possession or victory, but with genuine happiness.

The car pulled up alongside our position and the passenger-side window rolled down.

“Hey, fellas.  Can I offer ya a ride?”  Howard grinned at us, still wearing those damned sunglasses.

“If we refuse?” I inquired.

He shrugged.  “You’ll be the one to explain yer reasoning to Madam Po, that’s fer damn sure.”

“How do we know you’re not on the clock for Winner right now?”

“Ya don’t.  But here I am, right where Miss Sally asked ya to be.  I don’t see anyone else here to meet ya.  So, get in if yer gettin’ in, boys.”

With a sigh, I reached for the backseat door handle.  Solo followed, claiming shotgun.  Just as I opened the door and had placed one foot inside, I glanced back at the empty house.  I scanned the dark windows, the empty sidewalk, the featureless front lawn.  The Silencer was gone.

I slid into my seat without comment.  There was no time to look back.  We were committed to face forward, to meet the next phase of the plan head-on.

“So, where’re we headed?” Maxwell asked through a yawn.

“Back to Boston.”

“Long drive,” he observed.  “You up for it?”

“Hell, pup, I’m old, not dead.  Just take a load off.  I’ll wake ya when we get there.”

As there was no reason not to take him at his word — he had, after all, assisted the clan with locating a considerable number of vehicles belonging to Winner — I leaned my head back against the seat, wrapped and arm around the riffle case that contained my __jian,__  and closed my eyes.

If I dreamt, it was of swooping street lights, the rhythmic thud of tires upon asphalt, the occasional clicking of a turn signal, a shift to the right and then left as we changed lanes.

“Where are we?”

The sound of Solo’s voice pulled me from my doze and I peered out the window of the car.  I’d slumped in my seat, my legs sprawling awkwardly into the empty foot space of the seat beside mine.  I wedged my elbow into the crease of the built-in armrest, levered myself up, and counted one middle-class home after another in the morning light.  We were back in Niagara Falls?

“Where the fucking hell are we, Howard?” Solo shouted, startling me the rest of the way awake.

“Boston, kid.”

“This isn’t Winner’s fucking neighborhood.”

“You sure?”

“The fuck do you mean— _am I sure?_  I ought to know my own Goddamn neighborhood!”

I scowled.  I could not see a single brick apartment building on the quiet street.

Solo asserted, “You’re supposed to be taking us to the mansion.”

Howard shrugged.  “Well, now, that all depends on who you talk to.”

“Right.  And just whose money is doing the fucking talking?”

“That would be Winner’s,” the old con-man conceded, turning into the drive of a well-maintained, two-story white house.   I glared at the picket fence and hurriedly unzipped the rifle case as the vehicle braked gently to a halt.  “Don’t bite my head off or nuthin’,” the wretched geezer continued.  “Winner’s got fey watching us from every angle.  You go on and punch me if it’ll make ya feel better, but it won’t change nuthin’.”

He waited for a moment, but when Maxwell continued to seethe with hands fisted in his lap, the old man nodded.  “Get out.  Both o’ ya.  Trust me when I say ya don’t wanna keep Winner waitin’.”

I threw open the door, taking my sword with me and, keeping in mind the presence of the GPS ampule, I slid the strap over my right shoulder.  I waited for Solo to join me.  He slammed both doors shut hard enough to rock the car on its shocks.

As always, I had questions.  I chose the one I was fairly sure would not be answered one way or another within the next thirty minutes.  “What did you thank Trowa for—back in Niagara Falls?”

Maxwell turned around to face me and a corner of his mouth quirked up.  “I thanked him for loving my little brother.”

I gaped.  I didn’t ask how he could be sure that the fey even knew what love was let alone had the ability to feel it.  I would have, but Solo Maxwell chose that precise moment to lean forward and press a soft, warm kiss to my slack lips.

“For luck, Chang,” he told me, his eyes sparkling.  Mesmerizing.

Then his gaze hardened, reminding me of the job we had to do.

I nodded.  I was ready.

“Right,” he said following a fortifying breath.  “Let’s ring someone’s bell.”

I followed him across the neatly trimmed front lawn and up the front steps.  Our boots thudded across the porch with every step.  Solo didn’t press the bell as he’d suggested.  Instead, he just about ripped the screen door off of its hinges and pounded on the door.

Given what we’d been told by Howard, the sight of Quatre Winner’s delighted smile shouldn’t have surprised me, but somehow it did.

“Solo Maxwell!  And Chang Wufei!  Wonderful!  Just wonderful.  Come in.  You’re just in time for pancakes.”

Maxwell tensed, but moved across the threshold.  As always, I followed.  The appetizing aroma of high-cholesterol breakfast food permeated the homey but dated living room.  I spied an arrangement of photos upon the fireplace mantle to the right: a father, mother, and two boys.  The latter both had brown hair (like their father) and dark blue eyes (like their mother) and appeared to be at least five years apart in age.

Realization hit just before Solo remarked, “Sentimental much?  I’da though you’da redecorated by now.”

“Why tamper with perfection?” the fey replied and I wished, with every fiber of my being, that his neck were within range of my sword blade.  “Come and have a seat while we wait.  Would you like tea or coffee?”

“How about your head on a platter?” Maxwell suggested, making our host laugh with delight.

We paused on the threshold of the kitchen and watched as Winner giggled his way into a cook’s apron.  The straps ruffled his blond hair and there was a spray of flour dusted across the chest.  The fey really had rolled up his Egyptian cotton shirt sleeves and taken to cooking a meal for his human hostages.

Oh, yes.  That was what we were.  His next words, though idly spoken, confirmed it.

“I’m afraid it would be a messy and gruesome end for the both of you in that event.”

Solo glanced toward the nearest lace-curtained window.  “Snipers?” he guessed.

I nearly snorted.  As if a fey would be that merciful with someone his enemy would kill for.

Though, I had no evidence that either Trowa or Duo would kill solely for my sake.  Trowa would certainly kill anyone who so much as offended his companion and Duo would likely kill anyone who dared to harm his brother… and Solo would go to great lengths for the sake of my safety.  I supposed that included me under the umbrella of the Maxwell brothers, just barely.

Winner turned and regarded us with a light frown.  “Snipers are the least of my gathered forces.  Now have a seat or I’ll have you shot in the knee caps.”

We sat.

The fey beamed.  “I do love it when we all get along,” he trilled, turning his attention back to the stove-top and flipping the pancakes with barely adequate skill.

He caught my critical glance and admitted sheepishly, “It’s harder than it looks.”  He scooped up a yellowed index card from where he’d propped it up against a carton of milk.  “I tried to follow your mother’s instructions, Solo — she noted that these are your favorite—”  At this he flashed the hand-written recipe card at us.  Solo’s hands gripped the edge of the table.  Hard.  “—but there’s nothing here about how to flip them.”  He nodded to a plate of doughy failed attempts.  “I think I’ve just about gotten the hang of it.”

“Lucky us,” Maxwell gritted out.

“Oh, you are!  At least so far.”

“May I ask,” I began with as much civility as I could manage, “what you mean by that?”

“Well, I’d rather we ate first.  I’ve noticed that humans tend to lose their appetite easily.”

The remark was very telling.

Winner whirled around bearing two heaping plates of pancakes.  There were sausage links tucked along the underside of the largest in each pile.  The table had already been set with forks, butter knives, napkins and such.  He poured three black coffees from a French press and sat down opposite us.  I noticed he was within sight of both windows but not blocking the line of sight to either Maxwell or myself.

“Dig in, as they say!” he chirped.

I forced myself to begin slicing through the mountain of pancakes, creating and orderly grid pattern.

The fey sighed with tired satisfaction.  “Goodness, cooking is hard work!  If not for the invention of a labor class…!  Well, it’s no wonder humanity has spent the majority of its time on food preparation around a fire in some cave or other.”

“It’s been a while since you’ve really taken a good, long look at us, hasn’t it?” Solo baited him.

Winner watched as Maxwell ignored the silverware, rolled a sausage up in a pancake, dunked the end in a puddle of maple syrup, and stuffed a good three inches of the mess into his mouth.

Dear ancestors.  Only a Maxwell could be capable of open-mouthed, obnoxious chewing at the very mature age of twenty-five.  

Although…  Winner’s expressive wince at the display of poor table manners was rather entertaining.

Winner turned toward me.  “Mr. Chang, how are the pancakes?”

“Chewy.”

He rolled his eyes and snorted out a laugh.  “I should hope so!  But are they any good?”

Maxwell cut in, “OK, Winner.  We’ve eaten.  I’ll have some of that plan of yours for dessert.”

“Well, since you are so very eager, then, just a slice.”  He took a sip of coffee.  “I’m expecting a call from Duo and Trowa.  They’ll have noticed your absence by now.”

I thought of the GPS trackers contained in our concealed shirt pockets and doubted that.  But I said nothing.  Wonder of wonders, neither did Maxwell.

Winner grinned shyly.  Like a little boy who had done something naughty.  He confessed, “I’m so sorry, gentlemen, but the GPS devices you’re thinking of…. well, I broke them.”

“Say what?” Maxwell squawked.

The fey shrugged.  “There _may_ have been a very strong magnet in the car Howard drove.  Strong enough to wipe the magnetic charge from compasses—quality ones.”  He shifted in his seat and lifted a small remote control from his trouser pocket.  “It’s been turned on for the last two hours.  I hope there wasn’t anything important on your cell phones.”

Solo lurched for his phone.  I stayed my hand.

He waved the dark-screened iPhone at Winner.  “For all I know it just ran outta juice.  Charge it up an’ I’m back in business.”

The fey gave us a wily smile.  “Yes, perhaps you’re right.”

In agreeing with Solo’s assessment, he only made us question ourselves more.

A favorite fey tactic.

“And perhaps you’re wrong about this entire situation,” I barked.  “How do you know your people aren’t being eliminated at this very moment?”

“It’s simple arithmetic,” Winner bragged.  “The New York clan is still in Niagara trying to contain the army I sent there.  The fey resistance is similarly occupied.  And Master O has no idea that either of you are here.  Who else would come to your aid?”

I glared.

“You’ve run out of ‘friends’,” he almost gently explained.  His tone was slightly pitying.

“An’ you’ve still got a shit-ton of I-owe-you’s up your sleeve to call on.”

“Yes, succinctly put, Mister Maxwell.”

“Why this house?” he demanded through his clenched teeth.

“Because it is the absolute last place your brother would look for you.”  Winner swiveled in my direction and his eyes flashed with anticipation.  “But I expect Trowa will figure it out shortly.”

Solo crossed his arms over his chest.

My hands were cramping around the utensils in my grasp.  I considered excusing myself to the bathroom and using the opportunity to unsheathe the _jian._

“I wouldn’t, if I were you, Mister Chang,” Winner eeriely warned.

“You did not force me to part with my sword.”

“And you’ll remain alive so long as it stays in its sheathe—” he paused and then amended with a brightly spoken “—probably.”

Just then a phone rang.  Needless to say, it was not Maxwell’s or mine.  Winner glanced at the screen and grinned.  He stood from his chair and leaned back against the kitchen counter.  With a quick swipe across the screen, he answered, “Hello!  You’ve reached Quatre Winner.  Am I speaking to the Silencer?”

He tapped the screen once more and activated the speaker function in time for all of us to hear a very familiar, deadly-soft voice:

“Return Solo Maxwell and Chang Wufei unharmed.”

Winner did what could be considered an abbreviated version of a “touchdown dance”… while still wearing the apron that had once belonged to one (or both) of Solo’s deceased parents.  He gleefully inquired, fey-sharp teeth flashing, “And what are you offering in exchange?”

The call disconnected.

Winner’s expression froze.

Ah.  He hadn’t expected that.

But he should have.

Both Maxwell and I stood up from the table.  Winner watched us.  Waited for the shots to come, but our kneecaps remained in tact; there was no one left out there to shoot them.  The Silencer’s call had been the signal — the prearranged signal — that we’d been waiting for.

The back door banged open and our host leapt back, snarling at the sight of the blonde, female fey invading the kitchen.  “Leia,” he hissed, his mind clearly racing as he sought a foothold in the suddenly shifted situation.

I unsheathed the _jian_ with relish.

“No,” he ordered.  As if we would obey.  We were not his fey, his servants or slaves.

“I’m afraid so, Winner,” a young, red-haired girl replied, crossing the threshold in the shadow of the fey called Leia.

In the other room, the front door opened and closed.  Moments later, Trowa, Heero, and the mock, Hilde, joined us in the kitchen.  Though we could not see them, Mariemaia’s fey surrounded us.  They could kill us, but Trowa had sworn we’d be safe.

“She’ll not risk invoking the wrath of the Sicarian,” he’d explained to us some weeks ago.  “And she has her own business with Quatre.  We’re merely facilitating a meeting.”

“That’ll result in the bastard getting fried to a crisp,” Solo had summed up and we’d all ignored how his younger brother had avoided meeting our eyes.

He’d glared at the table top.  “There’s no other way,” he’d finally agreed with no small measure of anger, and we’d all known it was true.  Winner would never stop trying to manipulate the Maxwells.  If they did not make a stand and follow through now, it would be too late.

Thus, the plan.  Which had been needfully dangerous and complicated.  All to lead us here, to this moment where Winner was defeated thanks to his own overconfidence.

“You’ve made an admirable effort at avoiding your comeuppance,” Mariemaia informed him with a delighted smile.  “But payment is due, Quatre Winner.  Now.”

He looked from the young, red-haired female fey to her blonde guardian.  Then he glanced our way, his gaze skipping off of my drawn blade to Solo’s fisted hands and, finally, the Silencer’s expressionless face.

“Is Duo gonna do the honors or what?” Solo asked.

Before Duo’s consort could open his mouth, Mariemaia held up a hand.  “If you would, I’d like you to consider another solution.”

“What other solution?” Maxwell asked for all of us, mouth clearly on autopilot.  As usual.

“Come in, dear human,” Mariemaia called, and in stepped our first uninvited guest.  A slender woman of about twenty years of age, possessed of average height with her long, light brown hair pulled back from her face.  The woman’s blue eyes focused on the Silencer.  Recognized him.

Trowa himself was shocked.  Frozen.

Mariemaia announced, “Quatre, I’d like you to meet your future companion.”

My eyes widened.

The woman smiled almost kindly at her intended.  “Quatre Winner.  I’ve heard quite a lot about you: you’re the fey who ambushed and abducted a fey named Darlian.  You took his head and burned it, destroyed his memories of our family.”

I thought back to the dead fey on the catwalk in the resistance headquarters.  I remembered the gesture that the Silencer had made, slicing his hand across his own neck.  That fey would be summoned back and given its preserved head so that it would remember — would resume its place among the resistance.

There was apparently no head for this fey named Darlian.  He would return at the behest of one of the masters, his mind a clean slate.

The woman who had to be the slain fey’s former companion told Quatre Winner, “I am going to enjoy taking every last truth — every single solitary secret — from you.  From this day forth, I will tear your empire down and dance in the ashes.”

I would have scoffed at her braggadocio, except for the fact that Winner visibly paled and Mariemaia’s smile sharpened.  Was this possible?  A fey’s companion wielded such power over their consort?  I could not recall ever seeing Duo take advantage of Trowa this way, but of course he wouldn’t.  Not if he truly loved the creature.  But if it really was possible to control a fey thusly… well.

It truly was a fate worse than death for a fey such as Quatre Winner.

It was poetic.

But it was not the plan.

“Wait,” I called, interrupting the woman’s first step in Winner’s direction.  “What of the Maxwells?  Are you both satisfied with this outcome?”

Rather than objecting, Mariemaia looked with interest toward Solo for his reaction.  She clearly recognized that she would not be here, meting out justice to Quatre Winner if not for the Maxwell brothers.

“I, uh… shit.  Tro, where the hell is Duo hiding?”

The Silencer opened his mouth to respond when, suddenly, he grimaced, flinching hard enough to stumble, and magic crested over him in a visible wave, lifting the small, fine hair at the back of his neck, sharpening his teeth, and framing sudden-and-sharp, nearly invisible claws at the tips of his curled fingers.

Solo cringed back at the sight of a full-grown, feral fey.  Even the mock, Hilde, retreated beyond easy reach.

“Tro-bro,” Solo beseeched.  “Talk to us, buddy.  What’s goin’ on?”

“Duo…” he breathed on a thin thread of sanity.

“Yeah?  What about Duo?” Solo pressed, the only one among us who dared to draw the attention of the shuddering, barely-restrained form of the Silencer.

“Duo,” he snarled, his voice soaked in full-on fey bloodlust.  “Duo has gone into the dell.”

What?

How?

_Why?_

It was the mock, Hilde, who encapsulated our utter and total shock with two words: “Oh, fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bwhahahaha! C'mon and comment. I DARE YOU.


	7. The Secrets of the Silencer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duo POV
> 
> Mariemaia’s voice (FYI) : “The Requiem” by Linkin Park
> 
> Duo’s theme music: “When They Come For Me” by Linkin Park
> 
> WARNINGS: This chapter contains bad language (duh), violence (duh, again), plot twists, curve balls, dubious logic, GORE and BEHEADINGS (so check that the safety bar is secure and keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times… I MEAN IT).

A submarine.  I was in a fucking submarine — some glorified tin can — being shuttled to some damned safe haven while Trowa was dealing with Winner’s bullshit.  How the hell had he gotten me to agree to this?  Hell, I couldn’t even remember climbing in here.  

I fisted my left hand; I was so tempted to blame the silver ring on my finger — chalk it all up to some kind of fucking fey mind control — but I didn’t.  I had done this.  I’d left my husband behind because that was what he’d needed me to do.  And I never could say “no” to him.

He didn’t need me to like it though, so I went right on being furious over the fact that I was here and he was back at the base waiting for the ax to fall.

“Buckle up, Duo,” Sylvia gently reminded me and I registered the fact that I was sitting in the co-captain’s seat, staring at a monitor that showed nothing but swirling current.

“Yeah,” I agreed, struggling for calm.  I could not let the Sicarian start carving up the hull as I grabbed for my safety harness.  I closed my eyes and tried my damnedest to reach the level of serenity that Chang had shown me.  I knew I had it in me somewhere.  I just had to find it.

I breathed deeply and exhaled slowly.  “Just gimme a minute.”

Unfortunately, sixty seconds of peace and quiet was just too much to ask for.

“Brace for impact!” Sylvia shouted.

My eyes snapped open and my hands shot out for handholds as what looked like a suitcase, of all things, spiraled toward us in the churning water.  I watched on the monitor as it swooped down, heard it a moment later as it smacked against the starboard side, rattled against the hull, then was sucked below.

I let out the breath I’d been holding.

Maybe now was a good time to find that seat be—!

Stars exploded behind my eyes.  Someone shouted.  I felt the edge of the chair jam me in the hip and my entire right side bounced against unforgiving, cold metal.  My shoulder was stinging.  My head was numb and then… not.  What the…!  Was Solo pouring his Slushie in my hair again?

The asshole.

Maybe he was, but that didn’t explain why I was kissing the floor.

I struggled to open my eyes, but my entire body spun and vibrated so I snapped them shut again.

“Gently!” I heard Sylvia order.  “Don’t force him to move.”

“He can’t stay here on the floor.”

Hands touched my shoulder.

“He’s hit his head.  He’s bleeding.”

Sylvia swore.  

I giggled and then promptly gagged.  Luckily, I kept my lunch down.  God forbid I’d have to taste it a second time.

“I’m fine,” I informed the universe, daring my body to prove me wrong.  Which it did.  In a big way.

“Fuck!” I swore as the source of the Slushie spill suddenly roared at me.  Flames of agony.  A deep, all-encompassing throb that made even the soles of my feet ache.  “Don’t touch me!” I begged, trying to figure out how to turn off my awareness to each individual hair follicle on my scalp.

“There’s a lot of blood.  He may have a concussion.”

“Just let me get us past the falls.  There’s a fold-down bunk in the cargo hold.”

“Sylvia?” I whined.

“You bashed your head on the ceiling, Duo,” she obligingly explained.

“Wha—how?”

“That’s not important right now.”

I disagreed.  I opened my mouth to tell her that, but the words slid away and I felt myself slipping into a nice, comfortable darkness.

Someone grabbed my arm and shook me.  Hard.

I hissed.  “Hands off the goods!”  Trowa’s goods.  I was Trowa’s.  Only he was allowed to grab me whenever he wanted.  Not that he did.  Or, at least, not all that often.  Like, the last time was… sometime… a jean jacket?  Roaring water and a black button-down?  I dunno…

Another jerk on my arm and my eyes snapped open.   Grey metal revolved on a tilted axis. “Fuck off, Solo!”

“C’mon, up you go, young man.”  A warm hand under my arm, branding my shivering skin through the fey cloth.  “Your name’s Duo, is it?”

“Uhm,” I groaned.

“Please, Duo,” a third female voice pleaded and I tuned into it, focused on it as she spoke to me, called to me.  “Sit up now.  Let us help you up off the floor.  Yes, that’s it.  That’s the way.  On your knees now.  Good.”

And somehow I was lurching to my feet, spinning around, falling into warm arms.  Too warm.  Too slender.  Too soft.  Not Trowa.

I tried to jerk away, but the voice was back.  “Take a step for me now.  Good, now another.  Just a little further… all right, Duo.  Now it’s time to sit down.”

My ass connected with a cushion of some sort.  My head — it was so heavy on my shoulders.  I slumped to my side and the voice permitted it.  A hand on my brow.

“There you are, Duo.”

Yeah, here I was in a world of pain.  What a fantastic vacation this was turning out to be.  

“Who—you?” I demanded, getting distracted almost immediately and chasing after the expletives I’d meant to insert into that question.   _Get back here, you little bastards!_

The voice pulled me back.  “My name is Relena.  Remember me?  My mother and I came to you for help.”

I snorted — some help I was right now — and almost puked.

“Relena!” someone hissed angrily.  “Don’t!  We agreed to hide your—”

“He needs me.  I have to—”

What she had to do, I didn’t hear.  The darkness slid over me and fuck yeah I welcomed it.  Opened my arms like I was back at the farmhouse and my husband was nudging me awake with kisses and caressing hands.  Healing hands.  Blessed relief; the explosions pulsing under my skull dulled and dimmed.

Snuggling into Trowa’s arms, I sighed, wholly content.

“Are you satisfied?”

Trowa!

I blinked open my eyes and gaped.  I was in a dim, wood-paneled sitting room.  There was a fire crackling in the hearth and I was bathed in the gentle glow of a stained glass lamp on the table just to my left.  I looked up and stared as my husband — in all his Silencer glory — stood face-to-face with a brown-haired man I’d never seen before.  The guy’s expression was difficult to read through his neatly trimmed beard and mustache, but he nodded.

“Yes, Nanashi.  I accept your offer to take my companion’s daughter as your own companion should I fail my duties to them.”

Trowa’s eyes narrowed.  “I offer only because I know you would not dare fail them, Darlian.  I have no need for a companion, not even a charisma.”

The other man — a fey! — nodded.  “You will retain your right to rescind.  If I am slain and my memories destroyed, there will be no record of our agreement.  But I beg you, sir, protect them.”

“I will extend to them the same offer I have given you: if they have need of me, I will give them whatever aid I am capable of.”

I gawked.  Given what Trowa could do, that was no small thing.  Darlian clearly appreciated its value.

“I thank you.”

“I accept your thanks and now take my leave.”

“Go freely and in peace, Nanashi.”

With that Trowa turned away from the fey and I startled when I realized that I was standing here like an idiot between him and the door.  “Uh, hey!” I chirped, adding a grin and a dimple to cover the fact that I hadn’t been invited to this particular shindig.

The green eyes I’d spent days, weeks, months looking into — the green eyes I’d dreamed of night after night for twelve years — focused on me.  Even through that fall of hair that nearly always covered half of his face, those eyes saw me and froze me in place.

“What is your business here, human?”

My eyes widened.  “What—you’re—”

 _No scars,_ I realized, my gaze darting from what I could see of his unmarred cheek beneath his bangs to his right hand.

The very same hand shot out, encircling my throat and pressing the fey cloth into my skin.  I reached for his hand, scrabbling to get a grip on his thumb — bend it back and exploit the pressure point like Solo had taught me — but my gloves were slippery as shit.

“Speak your purpose,” that cold voice demanded.

I considered kicking him in the Bermuda Triangle, but I wasn’t so sure I wanted to be on the receiving end of a _personal_ disagreement _ _.__    _Keep it civilized.  For now._

I opened my mouth and forced the truth out through his iron grip.  “I don’t know.”

He scanned my face.  His fingers loosened until I was able to jerk free, take a stumbling step back and—

“C’mon, Silencer, it won’t kill you to smile for the camera!”

I gaped as the female fey with the auburn hair and blue eyes — Cathy — tugged on his arm, urging him closer to where Heero Yuy was glaring at the large, clunky, digital camera in Hilde’s hands.

“Let’s test it out, fellas!” she enthused.  Just like a kid on Christmas morning.

The Silencer permitted Cathy to pull him into the frame.  He sighed.  He rolled his eyes.

_Click!_

“I’ll print you a copy, boss,” Hilde promised.

“With what?  You do not possess a printer that is compatible with that device,” Heero pointed out.

“Well, see, that’s where you come in, ye of tech things.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“It’ll make your companion happy.”

Fey-fire flashed in Yuy’s eyes.  “Do not presume to—!”

A grip on my arm pulled me around and it was just Trowa and me again.  Only now I detected a faint, swirling mist around us.  Flashes of web-like lightning branching off toward a horizon that ringed a desolate, icy landscape.  Snow crystals sparkled under my feet.

“How did you get here?”

His tone was less cold now, more inquisitive.  But when I looked into his eyes—

The Silencer stared back.  Just like he stared back in the photos and sketches wallpapering the entryway of his apartment in the fey resistance HQ.  I wasn’t looking at Hilde — or some fey just like her — mocking my husband.  I wasn’t even looking at my husband-impersonating-the-Silencer.  I was looking at the real deal.

Holy hell.  “You’re the Silencer,” I blurted.

He tilted his chin to the side and studied me.  Thoroughly.  “And you are…?”

“Um, I’m—” I licked my dry lips, glanced left and right across the twilight-shadowed, white plain.  “Uh… tryin’ to find a way outta here.”

“Tell me your name and I will allow you to leave.”

I laughed in his face.  “Hah!  If you could send me back, you woulda done it already.”

Those green eyes iced over.  Narrowed.

I gulped.  “I, uh, I’m sorry for butting into your memories.  It was an honest mistake.”

He said nothing for a long moment.  A chill wind caressed my legs like a cat begging for attention.  I flinched, nearly stepped away, but what sort of memory would I end up in, then?  And I wouldn’t be able to claim it had been an honest mistake.  Not for a third time.  

My mind raced.  Holy hell.  I was in the fey void.  Or wherever.   Somehow, the patches of compacted snow — or maybe the branching lightning — preserved moments from the Silencer’s life.  I was knee-deep — or more like up-to-my-neck — in the memories of the __original__  Silencer.  This was the shit that the philosophers had taken from the fey that my husband had once been.  In his previous life.

I was as curious as I was queasy at the thought of discovering more about the fey who would one day be my Trowa.

So I stayed put.

The Silencer observed this, testing me, until his lips stretched and curved upward.   Whatever the hell this expression was supposed to be, it sure as shit wasn’t a smile.  If there had been any doubt in me that this was not my husband, I was 100-fucking-percent certain of it now.

“There’s no rush,” the fey in front of me said.  “Stay.  I would like some company.”

I’d just bet he would.  Oh, the shit I could tell him!

And if I did?  I mean, he was stuck here, right?  So what would be the harm?

Yeah.  I could remember thinking more or less the same damn thing as I’d sat on Trowa’s lap on the floor of my brother’s bedroom and as we’d playfully enacted a fey declaration.

I bit my tongue.  Scrambled for something innocuous to talk about… at least until I figured out how to wake up.

Crossing my arms, I offered lamely, “Uh, nippy weather we’re having, yeah?”

“I like the cold,” he informed me, reading my shiver like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.  Like the involuntary shaking of my body was telegraphing messages in Morse code.

Maybe it was.

“Fey cloth,” he observed, moving us to a new level of whatever game we were playing.

“Is it?” I played dumb.

“Who is your consort?”

Was there any point in denying it?  Probably not.  I shrugged.  “Eh, you wouldn’t know.”

“I know all of the fey.  Every single one.”

“Well, tell ya what, if you guess correctly, I’ll own up to it.”

His eyes flashed with satisfaction and I knew that I’d played into his hands.  Somehow.  I groped for a new topic.  Hell, _anything!_

“Cathy seems nice,” I blurted.

Though he hadn’t moved a muscle during our conversation, he froze stiff with shock.  “What do you know of her?”

I clenched my teeth at the intensity of his voice.  Holy hell had I just stepped in it.  Somehow.   “Uh, I know, uh... her name.”

“Her name.  Which you did not acquire from the moment you just witnessed.”

Shit shit shit!  What could I say that wouldn’t come back to bite me on the ass?

I closed my eyes.  Maybe if I clicked my heels together three times I’d be back on that fucking submarine in the middle of Lake Ontario.  A breath of air gathered heavily in my chest and I wished—

“Duo?  Duo!  I think he’s coming around now.”

“Open your eyes for us, young man.”

“Urgh,” I said, glimpsing two blurry female faces hovering over me.  The fluorescent light behind them seared my retinas and I had to turn my face away.  The moment I tried it, the ache inside my skull flared.  Oh, joy.  An encore.

I struggled to remember where I was and who was crowding me.  “Submarine bunk,” I managed.  “Relena.  Mareen.  Hey, ladies.  What’d I miss?”

One of the women leaned away, rose from the pallet.  I squinted through the glaring light as she moved toward the command center.  The one with her hair piled on top of her head stayed with me and I belatedly realized that she was holding my face steady.

“Have I stopped bleeding all over the damn place?” I asked.

“Nearly,” she replied with a quirk to her lips.

I blinked at her totally normal voice.  Had I imagined the commands that had gotten me up off the floor and over here to this shitty little bunk?  Maybe the second woman had been speaking?

But I didn’t think so.  I was pretty sure it’d been this one.  Only she’d sounded different, _been_ different.  Like, it had been humanly impossible for me to refuse her orders.

“You’ve got a huge cut right here,” she informed me, lifting one of her hands to her own head and drawing a line through her hair high above her left ear.

“Is it gross?”

“Definitely.”

“Bonus points for the battle scar,” I mumbled.

“Why do men think scars are absolutely tops?”

“Hey.  Chicks dig ‘em.”

“Will your consort?”

“Er, no.  He’s gonna freak the hell out.  Shit.”

She was quiet for a moment.  Long enough for me to pop open one eye to gauge her expression.  She was watching me with a speculative look.  “As odd as this sounds, you and your consort are the only other human-fey pair I’ve met.”

“Well, don’t generalize from our case.”

“Why not?”

I drew in a deep breath, was about to sigh, but then thought better of it.  “Well… it’s complicated.”

“We’re not going anywhere just now.  Er, I mean—”

I grinned.  “Yeah, I know what you mean.”  I tried to think of a reason not to fill her in and, maybe it was the head wound, but I honestly couldn’t.  Especially when every fey and their fucking goldfish already knew.  “He’s the Silencer.”

She stiffened, eyes wide.

“And I’m the Sicarian.”

“I… I thought the Sicarian was a weapon, not a person.”

“Turns out you can have your cake an’ eat it, too.”

“You can destroy fey, right down to their immortal souls?”

“Yup.”

“And yet you have a consort.”

“Who has pretty epic healing abilities.”  I watched as she worked it out.

“Remarkable,” she breathed, clearly fascinated.  And then she smirked at me.  “No wonder you were so angry with us.  Um, earlier.”

I laughed and immediately regretted it.  One careful breath.  In and out.  One more.  “Turns out I’m a possessive little shit.”

She snorted out an unladylike giggle.  Then she changed the subject, “What’s happening back at the base right now?”

“The Silencer is doing everything he can to draw in Quatre Winner’s army.  Trap them in the resistance HQ.”

“Kill them?”

“Not if they can help it.  Tro’s got a way of getting information that’s pretty hard to resist.”

Her gaze shifted away.  “What’s the plan from here?”

“See now, if I told you that, I’d have to kill ya, miss.  An’ I just ain’t feelin’ it right now.”

She lifted the gauze or towel or whatever that she’d been pressing to my head and winced in sympathy.  “I checked the first aid kit, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to give aspirin to someone with a bleeding head wound.”

“Probably not.”  Yeah, excessive bleeding and blood-thinners didn’t mix.

After a long moment during which I’d closed my eyes, she remarked, “I wish you’d trust me.”

“Well, we just met.”

She sighed heavily.  “And we didn’t make a very good first impression.”

No, they had not.  But I could only imagine what these two women had been through.  Imagining wasn’t gonna help anybody, though.  So I came out and asked, “What happened to Darlian?”

“He was taken off the street.  Right in front of us.”  Her throat tightened with emotion.  “We couldn’t do anything except stand there and watch, just like everyone else in the market, all the while knowing that this was the last time we’d probably see him.”

Her hands, still on either side of my face, still steadying my head as the submarine shifted subtly with the current, tensed.  Her fingers curled.

She continued, “He didn’t even look at us.  It was his final gift — protecting us from immediate discovery.  It gave us enough time to escape.”

“An’ you contacted Noin?” I guessed when her gaze turned inward toward those sickeningly frantic hours.

She nodded.  “It took time.  Too much time.  When we finally reached out to her, she told us that Quatre Winner had… had used a feykin.”

I’d seen for myself what a sobbing wreck it could make of a fey.  Without his companion there to offer a buffer to the pain, the poor bastard would have confessed anything.  Everything.

“And when he’d wrung every detail about us from him, he—”  She paused, swallowed, sucked in a fortifying breath, and finished in an aching rush, “He cut off his head and burned it to ash.  There was a film.  I couldn’t watch.”

No, I didn’t think I could have, either.  I carefully reached for her hand and gripped it hard.  Her fingers clamped down on mine.  I winced as the edge of the silver wedding band dug into my skin.  It was ridiculous, really.  What was one more annoyance in the face of a fucking cracked skull?

“Duo?  What—?”  She broke off and her hand shifted, her fingertips tracing lightly over the ring of metal through my glove.  “Is this what I think it is?”

I would have sighed if my head would have let me get away with it, but it wouldn’t, so I didn’t.  God, but justifying this was gettin’ old.  “Yes, I married him, and no I don’t give a damn what you think of a human marrying a fey.”

“No, that’s not—no, Duo.  I mean, does he have a ring, too?”

“Yeah.  We know the risks.  Our case is different.”  We hoped.

She was quiet for a long minute.  “I can see that.  Well, so long as your ring hasn’t come into contact with his blood, I guess the worst that could happen is bodily possession.”

“I can verify that I am all accounted for.”

“Such as you are.”

“Jesus.  Just go on and say, ‘I told you so’ an’ get it outta your system.”

She chuckled.

“But… outta curiosity, what would happen if my ring had touched his blood?”

“Darlian told us a story once about a fey who defied its master so egregiously that simply yoking it wasn’t enough of a punishment.”

“Banishment?” I guessed.

“There’s not much point in banishment,” she replied.  “It strips the fey of their magic and forces them to remain near a dell entrance.  The bit of magic that leaks out is just enough to keep them alive, but they’re more or less useless.  No, killing the fey, destroying their head, and summoning them again is far more practical.”

I’d have to take her word on that.

“But adding blood to the metal adornment of a yoked fey,” she continued, returning to the original topic without prompting, “results in the yoked fey being absorbed into the master’s consciousness.  Until there is nothing left of the servant’s mind.”

“Like a… zombie?” I sputtered.

“Not unlike a zombie,” she agreed.

I blinked up at the curved hull of the submarine.  An unsettling feeling swirled in the pit of my stomach.  I blinked and I sifted through the fragments of that weird ass Silencer dream I’d just had.  It really had just been a dream.  Hadn’t it?  I mean, it wasn’t as if I’d ever touched Trowa when he was bloody.  He’d totally gotten his healing groove back before I’d even bought the damn rings.  Hell, all the blood at the fey fight the other day had been Yuy’s and my left glove had stayed the hell on.  I’d been so careful.  From the moment I’d gotten these fey cloth gloves.

Hadn’t I?

I thought back, expecting it to be difficult to recall those moments in Trieze’s mountain retreat, but they were crystal clear.  Thanks to my magically-enhanced memory, perhaps.  I remembered picking up the fey clothes from the sofa, putting them on.  Wrestling my hair into that long scarf-thing bit.  And then Chang had come in and started pissing me off.

I’d marched down the hall and grabbed the feykin from the shattered display case.

_This is how we’re gonna get the truth outta the philosophers.  Does the clan have one of these?  They do, huh?  Well, OK, then._

I stared at myself in that moment.  Studied the fey-blood-crusted hilt lying across my open hand.  My gloveless left hand.

And then my mind leaped forward in time to an afternoon in O’s farmhouse.  I’d walked in on Trowa contemplating the feykin at the kitchen sink, a clean rag in hand.

“Whose fun little item is this, babe?”

“Mine.  Once upon a time.”

“Er, wait.  Is this from where I think it’s from?”

“Treize’s house.  Yes.”

“And, uh, the fey blood on it is…?”

Trowa hadn’t answered that question.  Chang had wandered into the kitchen intent on raiding the fridge.  “Fey healer blood, if you can believe what Treize told me to be accurate.”

“Holy shit.  So this could be your—”

“The Silencer’s,” my husband had corrected.

“Eugh.  If you’re thinking about cleaning that shit off, you have my full fucking support to proceed.”

He had.  But what if it had already been too late?  Was there some kind of connection between the essence of a fey mind and its blood?  Had that been transferred to my ring when I’d touched the feykin?  And then when Trowa had put his ring on, had we created a magical circuit and activated… something?

 _Metal conducts magic,_  Trowa had said.

Jesus.  Oh, Jesus.  My dream of the Silencer… what if it had been real?  Or, at least, not all in my head?  Or, worse, what if he __was__  in my head?  Or I was in __his?__   Or…

I groaned.

“Duo?”

“My head hurts,” I gritted out.

“I know.  It won’t be long now.  We’ll take you to hospital in Oswego.”

Fuck the hospital.  I had to call Trowa.  Had to tell him… what?  Wait.  Maybe I could fix this.  All I had to do was take my ring off, right?  Roger, that.  Now all I needed was a moment of privacy.

“Hey, do we got any water in here?”

“Yes, let me check.”

She stood and headed for the command section, probably to ask Sylvia where that shit was stashed.  I didn’t waste time.  I grabbed for my gloves, yanking both off and getting a good grip on my wedding ring.  Everything in my entire body viscerally rebelled at the thought of removing it, but I had to.  Oh, God, I had to.  What if I somehow lost myself in the Silencer’s La La Land the next time I closed my eyes?  Or even worse, what if he was able to possess me?  Or, oh my God, what if he took over my husband’s mind?

No.  Jesus, just… no.  Please.

I yanked.  I twisted.  I pulled and wiggled and rocked.  I stuck my finger in my mouth to add a little lubrication, but the damn ring would not come off over my knuckle.  I knew it wasn’t too small.  Hell, I’d had no trouble slipping it on and off before and after my shifts at the cafe.  I knew it could come off, but the fucking thing wouldn’t budge.

My pulse was racing, but I had to abort.  My new friend was thanking Sylvia for whatever and I only had a moment to struggle back into my gloves.  Somehow, I managed it before she turned around and held up a plastic bottle of water in victory.

Well, at least one of us had managed a mission: complete.

“What’s our ETA to shore?” I asked after I’d sucked down about half of the lukewarm water.

“About three hours,” she replied.

To distract myself from the slow burn of panic I could feel blooming in my chest, I quizzed, “So what’s your next move?”

“I… I’m not sure.”

“You should visit the New York clan.  Sally Po,” I recommended.  “She’s got a level head on her shoulders.”

“As opposed to?”

“As opposed to the batshit crazy assholes in London who live to add heads to their fey archive.”

“But there’s also the resistance?” she pressed.

I nodded.  “Sylvia’s your best bet there.  Heero Yuy is her consort.  They’ve been running the show for a while now.  They can give you the resistance 101.”

“And the… the fey masters?”

“I’ve been trying to stay outta the deep end, if ya know what I mean.”  I thought of the banquet I’d almost witnessed.  I remembered watching Trowa’s back getting sliced open by an invisible force in the middle of a fucking forest.   _Procurement of sacrifices._  I was never gonna be OK with that.  Not as long as I lived.

But I put it outta my mind.  I had to.  I had a job to do, whether I liked it or not.

“So, where ya from?” I asked in an effort to battle back my exhaustion.

By the time Sylvia announced that we were approaching Oswego Port, I’d learned where all the best places were in South Africa.  Looking for a spot with killer hot sarmies?  No problem.  I could totally hook you up.

“Let’s get you to a hospital now,” Sylvia informed me and I took note of how pale and stressed she looked.

I didn’t have the heart — or the energy — to argue with her.  But I said, “Just let me do a thing first.  It’s important.”

She nodded.  “One thing,” she allowed.  “And then we’re getting you to a doctor lest your consort finish the job of killing mine in retaliation.”

Jesus.  She had a point, there.

Twenty minutes later, I was wincing my way through dialing the number I’d memorized some weeks ago.  Of course, back then, I’d thought that Trowa and I would be doing this together.  I frowned over my shoulder in the direction of the Emergency Room check-in counter where Sylvia was collecting a clipboard of paperwork to fill out on my behalf.

The call connected.  “This is Duo Maxwell calling for Mariemaia.  It’s urgent.”

Though we’d never met, she seemed pretty thrilled to hear from me.  Even more thrilled by my news.  “So, are you in?” I asked.

“Oh, yes!  We’ll be ready and standing by for the Silencer’s message.”

“Glad to hear it.  See ya soon.”

Oh, yeah.  It was all starting to come together.

I slumped into a plastic bucket seat beside Miss South Africa.  “Where’s your sister-look-alike?” I teased flatly.  Fuck was I tired.

“Restroom.”

“Hm.”  I closed my eyes.

 “I… excuse me just a moment, Duo,” she said and I waved her off.

“Go for it,” I may have said…

… and then I ducked a green-blood-smeared sword blade arching toward my head.

Screams.  The squelch of soft tissue being sliced open.  The clank of metal, rhythmic and random.  I gazed left and right.  Holy hell.  I was in the middle of fucking Medieval battlefield.  A gurgling cough came from behind me and I twisted around, watched as some poor fey bastard breathed his last.

It belatedly occurred to me that the victor was still looming over me, sword in hand.

_Oh, shit._

I looked back over my shoulder and up at green-splattered metal as the guy — definitely a guy — took down a second, charging opponent.  And then there was silence.  Or nearly.  A few skirmishes were clanking away in the distance, but here at ground zero nothing moved within a twenty-yard radius.

I studied the carnage, swallowing against the warm saliva flooding my mouth.

“Silencer,” a weak voice called.  “Please…”

The guy still standing in the middle of the devastation quickly moved toward the source of the plea.  I followed, trying to place the sound of that voice.  I knew this dude, whoever he was.

It was Heero Yuy.  Heero fucking Yuy was lying in the middle of a fucking battlefield, dying.

But not for long.  The Silencer knelt and, wedging his gauntlet between his opposite elbow and the side of his chest plate, tugged his bare hand free.  Pressed his fingers to the side of Yuy’s exposed face.

“I give you the gift of renewal,” the Silencer said.

But he wasn’t speaking to Yuy anymore.  The fey before him had morphed — un-mocked — into a female fey who was also familiar.  “Hilde,” I breathed.

Both fey ignored me.  “Do you accept this gift?” the Silencer pressed.

She nodded.  The long blade in her grasp trembled.  Shaken and blue eyes burning with fey fire, she pledged with naked devotion, “I accept and I offer myself into your service, Healer.  I now fight for you.”

“Your master will not be pleased.”

“Neither would he have rewarded me for bringing him your head, as was my intention,” she admitted.

I angled around to get a view of the Silencer’s face.  He’d thrown up the face guard at some point in the battle.  Green blood splatter clotted his eyelashes and eyebrows.  He held out his bare hand to help her stand.  She grasped his wrist firmly.  

He said simply, “Welcome to the resistance.”

Whoa.  So, that’s how shit had gone down.  I was pretty sure that the notes back in the Silencer’s old room didn’t capture the total brutality and quiet horror of this place.  As well as the utter exhaustion of the surviving combatants.

A shout in the distance — a mighty scream — and I looked up in time to see a figure in armor swing a massive sword at the head of his adversary.  I really did almost barf at the sight of the head popping off the dude’s shoulders.

The body crumpled.  The still-standing warrior limped over and lifted the severed head up for all to see.  “Tsuberov!” the wielder announced, forcing the words out of his chest.  It was Yuy, I realized.  It was Yuy, completely exhausted and breathing hard, who called, “We have the master’s head!  The battle is ours!”

Amid the cheers, the Silencer moved from one fallen fey to another, healing his comrades and offering his gift to those who would join the resistance.  Just like Hilde.

I watched in awe at the sight: the quiet dignity and forgiveness of the Silencer as he attended to the wounded.  I hadn’t really appreciated what she’d meant when Sylvia had told me that the Silencer was truly fair.  But he honestly was.  Or, had been.  He didn’t hold a single one of Tsuberov’s fey accountable for what they’d been summoned and ordered to do by their master.

No wonder the fey of the resistance were fascinated by my husband.  Just, no fucking wonder.  Their Messiah had returned.

My musings were cut short as a cold mist rose around my feet.  From one instant to the next, the battlefield was gone and the tundra was back.  I swore at the fucking Arctic chill seething through my clothes.

“Hello.  Again.”

The Silencer was standing right behind me.

Well, fuck.  Here we go.  Again.

“Are you ignoring me?” he inquired, sounding vaguely intrigued.

I could try, but what would be the point?  Turning, I muttered, “Hey an’ whatever.  How’s it hangin’?”  At least the battle gore and gear was gone.  He was in a pair of brown leather pants and a vintage bomber jacket.  Like the fucking Red Baron or what-have-you.  I said, “Look, you wanna interrogate me or some shit, I demand a little fucking hospitality.”

Something like amusement — or perhaps hunger — glittered in his eyes.  “Take a step to your right.”

I gave him a long look, trying to read him.

He waited for me to either comply or loudly refuse.  I shifted to the right, and discovered a vinyl-upholstered booth seat just a slide-and-sigh away.  I fucking dived for the cushion, not at all surprised when the Silencer claimed the seat opposite.

We were in a malt-shake-and-fries diner straight outta the 50’s.  At least it was fucking warm.

I plucked up the menu.  “What’s good here?”

“The pecan pie.”

“With a green salad, dressing the the side?” I guessed before I could help myself.  I froze.  Glanced up.  Tried not to look guilty in the face of his intense stare.

After a long moment, he leaned back.  “No.  The salad leaves something to be desired here.”

“Good to know.”

“How do you know Cathy and Hilde?”

Shit.  I’d hoped he hadn’t caught that slip.  The chaos of the battlefield an’ all.  All I could do now was—

_Downplay, Maxwell._

I shrugged.  “I know lots of fey.”  Including one that was currently at the top of a short list.  Call me selfish, but I was kinda glad I was here instead of back there in the Oswego ER.  Shit, but I was not looking forward to what I was gonna have to do.  Not because I didn’t think Winner 100% deserved it, but because I did not want to be the Sicarian.

“What can I get you?”

I startled and blinked up at the waitress.

“I’ll have the pecan pie, no whipped cream,” the Silencer said and then cued me with a glance.

“I, uh, just a coffee.”

“It’s my treat,” he insisted.  “Get something else if you like.”

I ordered a burger just so he’d shut up about it and the waitress went away.  The moment she was out of range, the Silencer offered, “Penny for your thoughts.”

“Dude, is money even real here?”

He looked out the window.  “What is real, is the fact that you have sought me out yet again.  Let’s both assume you have some reason for doing so.”

I gave it the hell up.  “Fine.  My number one problem at the moment is a shithead named Quatre Winner.”

The Silencer’s expression twitched.  Was that a smirk?  I couldn’t tell.  

“Yes, he is a… shithead, isn’t he?”

I snorted.  “How the hell did you put up with him?”

“With copious amounts of chamomile tea.”

I coughed out a laugh.  When I wound down, the Silencer was, as ever, watching me.  He really wasn’t the smiley type.  I shouldn’t be surprised considering the fact that Sylvia had told me that the guy hadn’t smiled in all the years she’d known him through Heero and their work with the resistance.

“I’m a coffee drinker, actually,” I confessed.

“Really?” he replied and, from the tilt of his brow, I knew he was trying to be snide.  “I never would have guessed.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot you dunno about—”  My voice stopped suddenly.  

He arched a brow in question, inviting me to spit out the rest of the sentence.  But I couldn’t.

A strange sensation started building in my chest, like a hiccup.  I blinked and realized I’d felt this before: it meant I was about to wake up.

“Until next time,” the Silencer said and the sound of his voice followed me through the darkness.

“Duo!  Wake up!”

“Gimme a break, Syl.  I beg of you.”

She let out a long breath.  I looked up as she stood back.  “You scared me.”

“Am I over my quota or somethin’?” I quipped.

“Yes, you are, in fact,” she replied, sitting down in the seat that my head wound helper had vacated.

“Where’s, uh—?”

Sylvia nodded toward the restrooms and I spied both women speaking in low tones.  Arguing, more like.  What the hell?

As Sylvia started the thankless job of filling in my medical history, the woman with her hair done up — Relena — visibly implored the other, who pulled away and headed for the hospital exit.  Well, it wasn’t like they were our hostages.  They were free to take off whenever it worked for them.  I just hoped it wasn’t gonna work against us.

I tried not to stare, but I wasn’t exactly at my sharpest.  When Relena sent me a pleading glance, I struggled to my feet.  “Men’s room,” I grunted at Sylvia in explanation.

“Do you need any—”

“No,” I told her.  “I promise not to crawl into the damn urinal and take a nap.”

She rolled her eyes and went back to scribbling.  I made my way over to Relena with measured steps.

“Hey,” I began.  “What’s—?”

“I need your help,” she told me in a rush.  “My mother is going after Quatre Winner.”

“What?  How would she even know where to—?”

“Your call.  Just now.  She hit redial.  I have no idea who she spoke to, but they’ve come to some sort of agreement and you have to help me, Duo, or my mother is going to kiss Quatre Winner and spend the rest of her life in a sick mockery of a joining with the fey that killed my adoptive father.   _Please.”_

Whoa.  Just… whoa.  I was totally off the hook.  Being a consort for eternity to a woman who hated his guts was bound to be a better serving of justice that what the five of us had planned back at the farmhouse.

But… Winner would be forced to provide his new companion with a declaration.  And since magic maintained things in stasis, didn’t that mean that Relena’s mother — Mareen — would be cursed to an immortal existence of hatred?  Would she even be permitted to grieve and move on from the death of her first consort?  Was she even now still stuck in the mindset of a new mother who would do literally anything to protect her unborn child?  The very same mindset she’d probably entered into her first declaration with?

I thought back to the liplock she’d forced on me back at HQ and somehow I just knew that I’d read it right: Mareen was doing whatever she had to in order to protect her daughter.  That included switching places with her — pretending to be the charisma — if necessary.   Darlian’s death may have released Mareen from the magic itself, but her mind was gonna need more than a few days or weeks to work through a new mother’s biological need to guard her child.

“Fuck,” I spat.

“Please, Duo.  We have to stop her.”

“In order to do that, we’re gonna have to come up with a punishment for Winner that beats what your mother has in mind.”  Otherwise Mariemaia wasn’t gonna be satisfied and that could make our tentative truce pretty damn messy.

“Why don’t you… the Sicarian, I mean, can’t you—?”

Mercifully, she didn’t finish that thought aloud.

“Yeah, I could, technically,” I admitted.  It was totally the original plan for Winner, after all. “But, look.  Something is really wrong with the fey — with their world — an’ it goes back centuries.  I’m not sure if anyone still remembers how things used to be.”  Choices were limited and, unfortunately, the one we had the best chance of controlling was the one asshole I was supposed to fry.  “If anyone does know how things went wrong, it’d be Winner.”

She nodded slowly, understanding what I was only beginning to figure out for myself.  “But there’s no guarantee that my mother’s vengeance will help the fey.”

And that was what we needed.  The fey were all about enlightened self-interest.  If I could find a way to just—I mean, if Quatre Winner would only—how could I convince the perky shit to change sides?

Oh.

Of course.

Fuckity fucking fuck.  I glanced back at Sylvia, still bent over the clipboard in her lap.  Now was our chance.  “C’mon,” I told Relena, urging her toward the hospital entrance.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere I can sleep.”

“What?  No.  Absolutely not.  You need to see a physician.  Can’t you call your consort and—?”

“No, I can’t.  But I know what I’m doing,” I promised her.  Pulling my hood up to cover my blood-caked hair, I pressed, “Are you coming with me or staying here with Sylvia?”

“Coming,” she chose with no visible hesitation.  “I’m coming.”

“Fine.  Let’s go.”

We hailed a taxi.  We tumbled out at the Oswego bus station.

“Where to?” Relena asked and I went with the first thing that came to mind.

“Boston.”  As soon as I said it, I somehow knew it was the right choice.  Quatre had been too proud of Boston, his crown jewel, to ever leave it behind.  His final move, whenever that happened, would be there.  No question about it.

She bought the tickets and we sat down to wait.  I kept an eye on the door, tensing every time a shadow moved.  Sylvia would kill me — literally kill me — if she caught us here.  Jesus.

If I didn’t distract myself, I was going to go absolutely fucking nuts.

“I did touch some fey blood — while I was wearing this ring,” I told Relena, glancing her way in time to watch her frown of confusion morph into a look of quiet horror.  

“Whose?” she breathed.

“The Silencer’s.”

“Your… your consort?”

“No,” I replied and summed up the whole sorry history for her: his capture, un-naming, re-making, death, summoning, and banishment.  Ending with, “So that’s who I see when I pass out.  I’m with the Silencer.  That’s why I need to get back there.  To talk to him.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He was one of the longest-lived fey in existence until Winner arranged to fuck him over,” I shared, remembering what Solo had told me when I’d asked about their meeting with Mariemaia back when I’d been missing.  “He knows every fey.  Knows entire histories.  He can help us.”

“But you have to be asleep for the magic to take you to him,” she concluded.

“Yeah.  So, do you still trust me?”

She shook her head, clearly as overwhelmed as I was trying not to feel.  “He is not your consort, Duo.”

“I know that.”

“So what will he demand as payment for his assistance?  I might not have first-hand knowledge of this, but I’m pretty certain that your consort will be beside himself if you enter into a contract with another fey.”

“Who’s gonna tell him?” I challenged.

She opened her mouth.  Closed it.  Looked away.

Yeah, it was like that.  Either I had a chummy chat with the Silencer about our mutual menace, Quatre Winner, or Relena’s mom was gonna throw herself in front of the proverbial bus.  I had to believe there was another way.  A way that kept Relena’s mother, Mareen, true to the woman who’d raised an incredible daughter.  A way that didn’t involve the destruction of centuries of fey history at the hands of the Sicarian.  A way where fey-kind benefited from Winner’s incomparable knowledge and experience instead of being further exploited.

I mean, wasn’t that the Resistance’s end-game?

Didn’t mean Trowa was gonna go for it… which was why I had zero plans to wait around for a communications window so I could explain it to him.

“Fine,” Relena capitulated.  “But I am keeping a record of your pulse rate and if it slows so much as a beat per minute we are going to—”

“Hospital.  Doctor.  I got it.”

We boarded the bus.  An instant after taking our seats, I offered up my wrist.  I didn’t announce that I was going under.  Didn’t think she’d appreciate the dark, medical humor of it.

I leaned my head back against the seat, closed my eyes, and—

“Your hamburger is cold.”

I blinked open my eyes at the Silencer, scanned my surroundings and, miracle of miracles, I was back in the comfy diner.  He’d finished his slice of pie.  My coffee was no longer steaming (if it ever had been) so I figured he was right about the burger, too.

“I’ve had worse,” I replied with a shrug.  I mean, hell, the shit that passed for daily meals at the fey resistance.  ‘Nough said.  I opened up the hamburger and picked off the pickles, popping them into my mouth one-by-one.

Again, the Silencer watched me, waiting for me to either make a move or show weakness.

I said, “Hilde’s with Heero Yuy and Sylvia.  The fey resistance is still goin’ strong.”

He inhaled sharply enough for me to notice it.

“’s OK for you to be relieved,” I told him, anticipating the long breath he was currently exhaling.  “But I got bad news, too.”

I paused to give him the chance to brace himself for it.  Then I let it fly: “Cathy’s been yoked.  A nose ring.  I don’t know by who, but I saw her near the Nith dell.  Human side.  Less than three months ago.”

At my initial warning, the Silencer had frozen.  Now he was absorbing every word I’d said.  Right down to the tiniest nuance.

Finally, he replied, “What do you seek in exchange for this information?”

I grinned.  “C’mon, pal.  You and I both know we’re not talkin’ about information.  You’re gonna need someone to go after her.  Get her out of there.”

“Yes,” he admitted woodenly.  “Are you offering?”

“I’ll find her and free her after you help me with my Winner problem,” I proposed cockily.

“What do you think I can tell you that you don’t already know?”  He scanned my too-wide, toothy grin and lectured, “Befriend him and get close enough to take his head.”

“Not good enough,” I replied.  “See, I think he knows things.  Things that could help the fey resistance turn back the clock to how things were before the masters started taking over dells and raising their own  private armies.”

He blinked, startled.  “To my knowledge, only myself and the philosophers are old enough to remember that time.”

“And the Fates.”

He sucked in another breath.

“Yeah, I’ve met them.  Met your mentor, the Mercenary.”  I drew a finger down over my right eye along where the guy’s scar was.

He stared at me in a repeat performance of earlier.  He then propositioned, “Give me proof that you’ve met them, and I will keep your counsel.  In addition, I will give you whatever aid I can provide in your fight against Winner.”

“And Cathy?” I prompted.

“I would consider it a personal favor if you would free her.”

If I hadn’t been told on no uncertain terms by a woman who had fifteen years of practical fey exposure that it was impossible for fey to be lovers, I might have been suspicious.  Don’t get me wrong; I was curious as hell as to what Cathy meant to the Silencer, but now was not the time to get into it.

“I await your proof,” he reminded me, placing both palms upon the table top and moving to stand.

I said one word.  One unforgettable word.  And then I spelled it, just so we were both clear.

He froze.  “What do you think that is?” he demanded, fury rumbling deep in his broad chest.

I grinned.  “It’s your name.  If you don’t like that I know it, take it up with the Teacher.  He’s the one who blabbed.”

He sat back down.  “I was not joking earlier when I suggested befriending Winner.”

“Do as I say, not as I do?” I  remarked, quirking my brows.  “Besides, I don’t have time for that shit.  We’re on a schedule.”

He shook his head, appearing genuinely puzzled.  “I do not know how I can help you defeat him.”

“I know.  Or you woulda done it already.”

He did not deny it.

I drew in a deep breath and asked, “Have you ever heard of something called ‘Zero’?”

He shook his head.

I explained the theory, repeating what I’d gathered from Doctor J and Professor G.  Summed up: “A weapon that’s supposed to dethrone the masters.  You see where I’m going with this?”

“Of course.  The philosophers — one, all, or some unknown number of them — have a vested interest in Winner’s success.”  He cued me with a look.

“Which means I have to do more than take out their weapon.”  If someone other than me took out Winner, he would simply be summoned again.  If we went the eye-for-an-eye route and incinerated his head — in other words, if we forced the philosophers to start over with a blank slate — they would just re-install Zero.  And my instincts told me that the Sicarian was overkill.  What I needed was a game changer.  “I have to make their weapon mine.  How do I do that?  How do I turn Winner?”

“You want him to serve you?” the Silencer checked.

“Naw,” I denied easily.  “The dude seems like hella high-maintenance.”

The Silencer’s lips twitched.

I said, “I want him to use all of his knowledge to serve his own people.  The fey.  I want him to help rebuild what he’s spent centuries tearing down.”

“That,” the Silencer replied with deliberate articulation, “may be possible.”

Holy hell.  I hadn’t actually expected to hear that.

He added tantalizingly, “You will need the Weaver.”

“The Weaver,” I repeated dumbly.  “What does the Weaver do?”

“Knits, mostly.  Sometimes sews, mends, and tears.”  There he paused and I rolled my eyes. He was just waiting for me to ask.

I obliged.  “What does the Weaver knit, sew, mend, and tear?”

“Kinships between fey.”

My face twitched.  “You mean… the Weaver can fucking herd fey?”

“Like sheep.”

Jesus fried a chicken.  “Where is this Weaver?”

“According to you, she is a yoked servant of Quinze, the master of the Nithlyn Dell.”  

“And her name is Cathy,” I punch-lined.  I sat back.  “Nice try, there, slick.”

He regarded me solemnly.  “You’ve seen one moment — one _memory_ — shared between me and her.  I could show you more, but they’re more or less the same.  Cathy has an innate ability to bring fey together peacefully, to band us together and share one purpose.  Not toward one master, but for the greater good.”

There was a catch in there somewhere.  I went fishing for it.  “How come you didn’t sic her on Winner yourself?”

“He is aware of her abilities.”

“So what makes you think I’ve got a better shot?”

“No, the question is: what makes _you_ think you’ve got a shot?”

Fuck.  He’d totally just called my bluff on that.  I did think I had a shot.   Hell, the whole plan was for the sake of getting Winner alone in a room with no exits.

“Three words, my bros,” Solo had declared, counting them off on his fingers: “At.  Our.  Mercy.”

And we were confident that we’d be able to pull it off because there was no way Winner would take us — a clansman, two brothers, and a recently-summoned fey — as a serious threat.

I abruptly quizzed the Silencer, “Are you aware that there is an alliance between the Boston dell and Nithlyn?”

“No,” he admitted.  “Dekim and Quinze?”

I shook my head.  “Quatre Winner and Quinze.”

Again, I could just about see him shifting data in his mind, re-categorizing and drawing new connections.  Outside the diner window, dark clouds rolled in across the unending hard-packed snow and ice.  The wind picked up.

“I see.”

“And do you see my next problem?”

He stated it for the record: “How do you reach Cathy and bring her back through to the human side safely?”

“Yup.  You gonna give me that one free of charge?”

The Silencer evaluated me.  Weighed my worth.  And I guess I came out on top of that equation because he said, “Yes.  I will tell you that as well.  In good faith.”

And he did.

When I opened my eyes, it was a new day in Boston.  The bus was just pulling off of the highway.  Amazingly, Relena was still measuring my pulse.  As promised.

“It’s gonna be OK,” I told her, squinting against the persistent headache banging around in my skull.  Fuck.  I sure as hell hadn’t missed this back in the diner-that-wasn’t-really-there.

“Is it?” she breathed, exhausted and hopeful.

“Yeah,” I answered.  I had intel and I had a plan and — if I were very lucky — I also had time.  Not much but enough.

We tripped our way off the bus and hailed another cab.  I used my dwindling stash to pay for the ride to the Arnold Arboretum.  I’d been here a couple of times before on school field trips, so I had a general idea of where we needed to go.  Too bad we were gonna have to trek most of the way on foot.  Damn was I tired.

The taxi driver took us as far as he could, and then it was time to strap on our walking shoes.  So to speak.

“This is beautiful,” Relena remarked, hooking her arm through mine without invitation.  I didn’t complain.  She wasn’t just trying to steady me; her presence was a genuine counter to the weird-ass clothes I was sporting.  And the fact that I had a black hood up covering my head like I thought I was some kinda Jedi knight.

“Sure,” I agreed, glancing past the early morning gawkers toward the greenery.  “This is a great place for a Star Wars convention.”

She gave me a startled look.

I added loudly, “Boy, I can’t wait until I’m head of the local chapter.  We can totally enact some awesome Lucas-lore battles here.”

Relena said nothing, but we both noticed how nearby dog-walkers and joggers stopped staring.  So I babbled a little more about what a great Princess Leia she would make and it was gonna be tough narrowing down the candidates for Han Solo, but if another epic Atlantic mist rolled in, whoever got to be Chewbacca was gonna be glad for the walking-carpet suit.

“This is it,” I told her in a normal tone, steering her toward a single, aged cherry tree in the middle of a large, grassy hollow.

“This is what, exactly?”

“The entrance to the dell.”

“How do you know?”

The Silencer’s voice rose above the gentle sounds of our footsteps, nearby birdsong, and distant traffic: “A lone cherry tree.  Very old.  Its branches drag the ground in spring when it rains, drenching the blossoms.  Do you know it?  You must circle it clockwise twice, counterclockwise once.  The gateway will open.”

I led Relena around the tree, taking our time because holy hell was my skull killing me.  Could the human brain, like, explode out through your nose and ears?  Was that a thing?

“We’re about to fall,” I told her.  “Stay calm.  Do not panic.  Relax.  Try and fall backwards instead of flat on your face, yeah?”

“Duo…” she breathed, genuinely scared.

“There will be cages.  Casks of fey wine.  In a big fucking storehouse.”  And if we were very lucky, no one would be there except for us.

Her breathing picked up.  We completed the second clockwise trip.  I turned her around and started the counter-clockwise rotation.

“Keep your eyes open when it happens,” I advised.  “The magic reacts to fear and shows you, like, terrors.”

“You’ve seen them?”

“Yes, so keep you eyes open and trust me.”

“I do.”

“No matter what.”

“I will.”

That was good because the grassy turf had just disappeared beneath my feet.  I was falling in blurry silence.  Passing into darkness.  Landing with a bone-jarring crash.

These fucking lunchmeat cages.  Would it kill them to add a little padding?

But then again, maybe the hard landing helped tenderize the meat.

I heard a second _thump!_ behind me and carefully rolled myself over, peered through the pale bars of my cage and into the neighboring receptacle where Relena was cringing in a tight ball.

“Open your eyes!” I hissed, summoning every bit of my strength in order to lurch to my knees.

She whimpered and cringed.

“Relena!”  I blinked through a wave of dizziness and grabbed for the locking mechanism on my cage’s door.  It was secure.  But not for long.  I yanked my right glove off, reached deep inside myself for that stomach-rollingly sickeningly-possessive rage, and chopped the air in front of my target.  The thing cracked like peanut butter brittle.  I swung myself out of the cage and staggered over to Relena’s.

“Trust me!  Open your eyes!”

“No!” she barked and I didn’t waste time trying to convince her.  The Sicarian and I busted open the lock and then I was letting go of my disgust and fury, reaching for her arm and giving her a good shake.

Her eyes popped open on a gasp.  She blinked at me.  “Duo?”

“C’mon,” I urged instead of telling her “I told you so.”

As she slid out of the cage, I surveyed the room we were in.  It wasn’t the same dimensions as the one I’d fallen into the first time (through the New York dell), but it was very similar.  I eyed the sealed door to my left and I was tempted — so very tempted — to go over there an crack it open, check and see if the strange topsy-turvy land that I’d seen before was still on the other side.  And what if it was?  How would that help us find Cathy?

It wouldn’t.

I turned toward the darkened tunnel on the right.  There were no sounds of merriment.  No sharpening stones passing over dulled blades.  No singing, no candlelight, no banquet.  Not today.

“It is a risk,” the Silencer had warned me.  “Fey hours do not necessarily align with human time.  There could be a summoning banquet.  If there is—”

But it looked like we’d gotten lucky.  The room beyond the darkened tunnel was empty.  There was just enough light so see by; a dozen or so will-o’-the-wisps floated above our heads, their light swelling and then dimming at odd intervals.

“Where are we?” Relena breathed.

“The banquet hall,” I answered, moving toward the center of the room.  Again, I was relying on the Silencer’s information: “There will be a raised platform in the middle with seats of honor for the masters and Winner.  The number of seats will indicate the number of masters in the dell alliance.  They will be back-to-back or form a circle.  Do not enter that circle or come between them—”

I stubbed my toe on a stone step and just about gave the game away with a nicely enunciated “Fuck!”  As it was, my soft grunt echoed and Relena latched onto my arm to keep me from keeling over.

Ouch.

But, whatever.  I could be a man about it.  Cue manly face twitch of agony-denial.

Up we went until, with a well-timed flash from a passing will-o’-the-wisp, we found ourselves facing a massive throne.  Relena and I circled the top of the platform and I counted thirteen seats.  Holy fuck did Winner have his fingers in a lot of pies.

OK.  Seats of honor: check.  Next up, we were gonna have to figure out which one belonged to Quinze.

“How will I know which?” I’d demanded of my informant, who promptly grabbed a paper napkin from the diner dispenser and pulled a pen from the inner pocket of his bomber jacket.

“This symbol — the fey number fifteen — will be breathing upon the right armrest, just underneath, where one’s fingertips would press.”

“Did you just say—um— _breathing?”_

He had.

I approached the first seat, lifted my bare right hand to my mouth and licked the back.  I then thrust my damp skin under the armrest.  Sure enough, a cold breath exhaled against my skin, burning.  I hissed and quickly used my left index finger to trace the sensation.  It formed a shape I didn’t recognize.  Not the fey number for fifteen, anyway.  This was not Quinze’s seat.

I moved down, repeated the process.  Nope.  Not this one, either.  Moved down again.  Nope.  And again.  Nada.  And again—yes!  I reached for Relena’s arm.

“This is it,” I told her.  “Follow me.”

I  tugged the fey cloth up and over my nose and mouth.  I then stepped into the space on the chair’s right, pulling Relena with me and wrapping my arms around her.

“There’s only room for two — a guardian and master,” the Silencer had said, “and Quinze will know the instant you arrive.”

Relena said, “I’m ready.”  Her hands fisted in the back of my tunic.  I walked us backwards toward the center of the dais—

And blinked rapidly at the soft, amber glow surrounding us.  Dammit, nothing was helping this fucking headache.

I scanned what I could see from our current position, not loosening my hold on Relena, and was mildly surprised by the grandeur of the cavern we were in.

“Do not move,” the Silencer had said, “or it will mean your head.”

So now we waited.  We waited until the master of the dell deigned to invite us to speak.  And I was pretty sure he would.  It wasn’t every day that a couple of humans crashed your crystal tower.  Or whatever you were supposed to call the fey master’s home-sweet-home.  Relena and I had this one advantage: Quinze would want answers.  What I hadn’t told Relena was that I had no way of knowing if the asshole would start out by asking nicely or just commence with the torture.

We waited, holding onto each other in silence.

Skull-achingly long minutes later, a voice called out, “Well, well, well.  Isn’t this a surprise.”

“Sorry about the sudden arrival,” I replied.  “I was looking for the doorbell.”

From out of the shadowed tunnels branching off from this chamber, no less than twenty fey emerged.  Relena and I held still; we hadn’t been given permission to move and if we were attacked this soon, it’d give the whole game away.

“Someone has clearly educated you on correct manners,” the owner of the voice continued.

“I’ve got a charlie-horse.  Left leg.  Just gimme a sec; it’s starting to pass.”

He chuckled.  “When it does, please do turn and face me.”

My lips moved, brushing the fey cloth against Relena’s cheek.  “OK?”

Her fingers unclenched from my tunic.  We turned around.

It was pretty obvious by his shit-eating grin who was in charge here.  I took in the elderly fey’s jowl-length white hair and padded vest.  At least it wasn’t Michael J. Fox, Back-to-the-Future orange.

“Who are you and what brings you under the dell?”

I cleared my throat.  “I’m with the fey resistance, and I’m here to negotiate.”

The fey giggled, an unattractive sound that squeaked out of his pencil-thin nose.  “For what would you like to negotiate, pawn of the resistance?”

“Cathy.”

“Why?”

I scowled with impatience.  “Look.  Maybe you haven’t noticed, but today hasn’t been the greatest.”  I gestured to my concealed scalp, taking a chance that they’d be able to smell the blood on me.  “I’ve gone to a lot of trouble here.  Gettin’ past Winner’s fey wasn’t easy.”

The master smirked.  “Is that so?  What do you offer in exchange for the fey called Cathy?”

I lifted a hand and pointed mutely to Relena.  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her hands clench in the hem of her sweater, front and center.

“And why should I accept?” Quinze challenged.

“Because you’ll have a lot more use for a charisma than you will for a captured rebel.  Or am I wrong?”

“A charisma?” he repeated, clearly equal parts impressed and dubious.  “Prove it.”

“First,” I provisioned, “a gesture of good faith from you.  I have been instructed to reach an agreement with Master Quinze and no one else.”

He huffed, but complied with the request — the Silencer had explained, “He’ll have to age shift to verify his identity, which he will do if you demand it.  It is one of our oldest traditions.” — and I watched as the apparent master of the dell proved himself, sloughing off twenty years before resuming the appearance of an elder.

“Now the charisma.  Speak to your captor.  You may have him do whatever you like,” Quinze invited with an aimless wave of his hand.

I tensed, ready to fight her as Relena took a step back and addressed me, “Traitor.”

Ouch.  That was some accurate shit right there.  For more than one reason.  And from at least one perspective.

“Get down on your knees,” she commanded.  I recognized this tone; it was the one I’d heard aboard the submarine.  The tone that I hadn’t been able to ignore or disobey any more than I could now.

Power throbbed in the air.  I felt myself sink to the ground before I’d made the conscious decision to let it happen.

“Ah, wonderful,” the master crowed with delight.  “My dear, welcome to your new home.”  Quinze held out his hand.

Relena hesitated.  “I can’t,” she whispered, fearful and trembling now that we had arrived at the juncture upon which the totality of our gamble rested.  “They have my mother.  If he doesn’t return with Cathy, they’ll—they’ll—please, sir.”

“Oh, very well.”  The master’s eyes closed and a moment later, a slender figure separated from the shadows of one of the tunnels.  I watched as Cathy came forward, eyes blank and golden nose ring winking in the soft light.

“She’s yoked,” I blurted.

“That,” Quinze sneered, opening his eyes, “is your problem.”

Actually, it was his, but I didn’t tell him so.  I glared from my position on the floor and watched as Relena and Cathy moved toward one another.  Quinze’s grin widened and he rubbed his hands together, clearly thinking that I was furious because I was losing out on this deal, but what he didn’t know was that my eyes weren’t narrowed out of anger, but in calculation.  I had one shot — one literal shot — and if I missed, we were all fucked.

“There are three ways to release a yoked fey,” the Silencer had said, “first, the master removes the adornment.  Second, the yoked appendage — the nose, in this case — is cut off.  Third, the master is killed.”

Door number three, it was, then.

I remembered how Trowa had acquired his latest scar, remembered seeing the blood seeping between his fingers.  And then  the moment back at HQ as I’d sliced our old mattress up.  I thought of the scratch in the concrete wall.  I’d managed a clean cut.  A clean cut and no more.  No burning, ash-generating, total destruction.  I’d done the same thing to the cages in the fey storeroom.  I needed that to happen one more time.  Just one more time.

I needed the blade only, not the legendary soul-burning bit.

I could do this.

The ladies were close now.  Almost level with each other, though a good two yards apart.  This was the closest they would be to each other.  This was the moment.  It was now or never.

I chose now.

My bare right hand sliced through the air, startling the surrounding fey.  Quinze’s eyes widened, his mouth opened…

And his head slid from his shoulders to bounce on the rock floor.

Bhoosh.  That’s how it’s done.

Cathy’s knees sagged and Relena dived for her.  The dead weight of the collapsing fey was too much for her to support, but I was already up and moving toward them, holding out both hands — gloved left and bare right — as I spoke.  “I wield the Sicarian.  Attempt to harm or stop us and it will be the the last thing you _ever_ do.”

They froze.  In various positions — some crouched low and others with fingers curled into fey-talons — they each and every one of them froze.

“Cathy,” Relena called softly, gently patting the fey’s face.  Her lashes must have lifted because I heard her sharp intake of breath.  “Shh, now.  You’re among friends.  We’ve come to help you.”

And because that wouldn’t have calmed me down, I added, “We’re friends of the Silencer’s and we’re taking you to him.  If that’s what you want.”

I sure as hell hoped it was.

“Who are…?” she breathed, and then she gave a short scream.  “No!  Get it out!  Get it out of me!”

I could not afford to look away from our audience.  I had to let Relena handle it.  Whatever it was.

“All right.  Hold still.  I’ve got it.”

A moment later, the sound of a tiny, metal object hitting the stone floor pinged and echoed.  Ah.  The nose ring.  No wonder she’d freaked out.

“Well, Cathy?” I asked.  “Quinze — the master who yoked you is dead.  The nose ring is gone.  Are you gonna let us take you home or not?”

“I—”

Whatever she would have said was stopped short by a strange, simmering sound.  As one, the fey turned toward their fallen master and watched as a ring of red fire encircled the neck on both the severed head and the body.  Simmered and burned.  A dusting of coppery ash fell to the floor.

Well if that don’t fucking fuck all!

“God damn it!” I swore, furious with myself, with the Sicarian, with the fact that it was all-or-fucking-nothing and—!

_Deal with it later!_

“Ladies?” I called.  “What’s the story?  Do we stay—”  And watch the Sicarian destroy every last fey in this place? “—or do we go?”

The soft sizzling continued until Quinze’s head crumpled to dust on a soft sigh.  The body, however, was still burning.  One by one, the fey turned back toward me, their cold gazes evaluating, measuring, weighing.  I kept my hands up.

_Don’t you — don’t any of you — fucking make me do this!_

“Master Quinze,” a female fey breathed, glancing from me to the disintegrating form.  “Master Quinze… is destroyed.”

Her voice shook and the tremor in it circled the room, vibrating in the lofty ceiling.

_Aw shit, here it comes._

“Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiya!”

I flinched back at the ear-drum piercing battle cry — Jesus, how was I gonna get Relena outta here before they ripped her apart? — and then the room exploded into violence.

Fey crashed upon fey, eyes flashing and teeth clamping down into flesh.

Holy hell.  We were in the epicenter of a full-on battle.

“Come with us, Cathy.  Yes, that’s it now.”

Oh, thank God.  Relena was using her charisma skill to get our damsel up and moving.  I converged on the both of them with the intent of guarding them from flying bodies and feral fey as Relena ordered, “Show us how to get to the Boston dell, Cathy.  How do all three of us get to Boston from here?”

Our fey guide stood shakily and headed for one of the tunnels.  Dodging, spinning, leaping out of the way of sharp claws and twisting bodies, I brought up the rear, gasping through the dizziness and the pain.  Jesus my head was killing me.

_Just a little further!_

A left turn.  A right.  Another left.  And then Cathy was ploughing through a door.  We slammed it shut and both Relena and I scrambled for furniture to throw in front of it.  In the corridor, we could hear the screams and growls moving closer.  Relena toppled over a bookshelf, wedging it against the door partially upright.  I hauled a five-legged table over to add weight.

“This way,” Cathy said, and both Relena and I blinked.  A beaded curtain was falling — released by a simple chain grasped in Cathy’s hand — tinkling with music as it halved the round seal of fey runes carved into the stone floor.  “This way,” she repeated and, parting the curtain, stepped through… and disappeared.

Something big and heavy struck the door.  The bookshelf creaked.

“Ladies first,” I told my partner in crime.

“Don’t mind if I do,” she breathed, easily as terrified as I was, and parted the curtain.

_Bang!_

The table skidded across the floor.  Fey-claws curled around the edge of the door.

Oh, shit.  No time to be suave.

I dived for the curtain, parted it, slipped through, and just as my feet landed with a splash on the other side, I turned back.

The door burst open.  Feral, flashing eyes and sharp, bloody claws.

I summoned the Sicarian once again and sliced the blade of my hand at the top of the curtain, heard metal snapping, beads collapsing upon each other.  I lunged back as the fey lurched over the threshold and the curtain fell.

I landed on my back in ice cold water.

Now, Relena and Cathy would tell you that I screamed like a girl before I passed out.  And, hell, what do I know?  Maybe I did.


	8. Winner's Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duo POV
> 
> A very Relena-esque speech (but male voice) : “Wisdom, Justice, And Love” by Linkin Park
> 
> Theme music: “The Catalyst” by Linkin Park

Nobody ended up carrying my ass to the park entrance.  That right there was something to be proud of for sure.  Even if coming to while lying flat on my back in the middle of a trickling stream beneath a wooden bridge in Arnold Arboretum was somewhat less than dignified.

Well, I was a little brother, after all.  I was used to being undignified.

Indignant, too.

“Stop shoving my ass, Relena!” I bitched, wincing and gasping my way into the back of the taxi that Relena had managed to flag down — but really, who was gonna speed past a pretty girl like her?  No guy in this town.

“Good ol’ Boston boys.  Do me proud,” I announced to the world beyond the car window.

“Give me your hand, Duo,” Relena ordered, cozying up next to me on the bench seat.

“For four easy payments of $9.95,” I quipped, my eyelids drooping.

“Oh, God.  I can’t find your pulse.  Wait.  Too weak.  Duo, we’re getting you to hospital.”

“Trowa,” I corrected.  Trowa would heal me up.  Before he kicked my ass.

For that last reason alone, I was tempted to let myself slide into unconsciousness, have myself a nice chat with the Silencer.

“Duo!  Stay with us.  We’re pulling over to call Trowa.  C’mon, now.”

I grumbled and Relena guided and somehow I was holding a big, heavy phone receiver to my ear.  I peered at the numbers, but couldn’t get them to hold still long enough to dial.  I closed my eyes.  “You do it, Relena.  The numbers’ll hold still for you.”

“OK.  Tell me.”

I recited the number, belatedly wondering if my memory had jumbled things up like my eyes were doing, but then I heard his voice.

“WHAT?”

I laughed.  Wow, that hurt.  Amazingly, my head could produce more pain.  “Trowa, baby.  Guess who!”

“DUO.  WHERE ARE YOU?”

“Boston somewhere.  I dunno.  Talk to Relena.  I need you, though.  Really really…”

Relana’s hand was suddenly patting my cheek and my hand was empty.  “We have a car if—the address is—yes, all right.  We’re on our way.”

The clatter of the phone being hung up startled me out of my doze.

“Back in the car now, Duo.”

“Where’s Tro?” someone asked, speech slurred and stretched out funny.

A warm arm wrapped around my waist.  “He’s close.”

That was both good and bad news.  I tried to figure out why as I crawled back into the waiting cab.

Relena gave the driver a new address and it seemed vaguely familiar.  Maybe it was the smell.  Yeah, it smelled like vanilla and cut grass.  Weird.

“Duo!”

I jerked, winced, and groaned.  “Don’t shout.  Jesus, Syl.  My head already.”

“What are you going to say to Trowa?”

What the hell kinda question was that?  “I-love-you.  Duh.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be enough,” she warned me.

I gave her a charming grin.  “I know.  I’m only a quarter.  Never been enough.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t think that.”

My eyelids slid shut.  I sighed.  “You’re right.  He dunt.  Buh d’iss true.”

I didn’t like being all alone in the dark with the truth, so I tried to open my eyes again.  Couldn’t.

“Where did you first meet?”

“Uhn th’dumb fries…”

“Can you understand him?” a woman’s voice said low in the background.

A second woman — or the same one?  the first one?  Sylvia? — answered, “No, but I’ve got to keep him awake.”

“You ladies want me to head for the hospital?  The fella back there looks real bad.”  A man this time.  Whoa there were a shit-ton of people at this party.  Where the hell was I, anyway?  

“No, stay the course, please.  As fast as you can.”

Someone shook my shoulder, asked me all kinds of shit — my birth date and favorite subject in school and when aliens were gonna take over the planet — and I tried to answer.  It was rude to leave people hangin’, y’know.

I realized we were moving just as we slowed waaay down and the momentum rocked me forward, then sent me careening across space.  A pair of hands grabbed my shoulders and held me up, but the damage was done.  I was slipping, sliding, skidding into the darkness, tumbling into that little patch of nothing at the corner of your eye.

And then fresh air washed over me and large hands pulled me forward.  My face planted against a shirt and the firm chest beneath it.

“Duo?  DUO!”  Arms around me.  The right size this time.  Or, one of the right sizes.

“Jesus.  What the hell’s wrong with him?”

Birdsong.  My lashes fluttered.  Green eyes, brown hair, a fey scar on his cheek.  Why did he look so scared?

And then I dived into darkness.

Oh God.  It felt amazing.  Warm and gentle and it even smelled like him.  Heaven.

I don’t know how long I stayed in that soothing cocoon, but I eventually registered the sound of voices.

“—pulse is strong.”

“You can put him down now, Tro-bro.”

Arms tightened around me and I nuzzled into the fabric under my cheek.  A metal snap flipped on its edge and poked me in the side of the nose.  I didn’t care.

But I couldn’t hear the birds twittering anymore, and that was kinda sad.  “No birdsong,” I mumbled.

A hand smoothed over my head, along my crown and down over the left side.  I frowned.  Shouldn’t that hurt? My attention snagged on the puzzle of it, and when I finally clued in—

My eyes snapped open and I stiffened.  “Trowa?”

“My Duo,” he purred quietly.  “I’m here.”

So was I.  I was here.  My head felt fine and how amazing it was to not have to think through the blinding pain…  Jesus, I must’ve been hurt really bad.  I vaguely remembered a whole lot of blurry something — voices and vertigo — after opening my eyes under that damn wooden bridge.

I leaned back far enough to look at my husband’s face—solemn, pale.  I lifted my fingers to his cheek — his skin was frigid.  Though he had every right to be furious with me for going into the dell, he said nothing.  He didn’t even __look__  mad.

Holy hell.  How close had I come to buying the farm?  I was kind of afraid to ask.  I took a deep breath and said, “So, I’m alive and you’re alive.”

A desperate fire flared in his eyes.  “...yes.”

“Does that mean we’re all good?” I dared with a hopeful smile.

“Not remotely.”

Well, fuck.  I sighed and glanced away.  Time to gather data on my surroundings.  That would help me figure out if this was the time and place to sort it out.

My gaze landed on Solo where he was crouching next to the coffee table.  Trowa and I were on the sofa and my brother was watching me like… like one of us had just had a near-death experience.  I was kinda thinking it was me.

“Hey, moron,” I greeted.  “You ask Chang out on a date yet?”

Solo moved like he was gonna punch me in the arm, but then his hand went up to the top of my head and ruffled my crusty hair.  “Keep your nose outta it, dumb-bro.”

“Solo,” a third voice — the aforementioned Chang — said with quiet urgency.  “We are overstaying our welcome.”

My brother sighed and looked at me.  “We got a situation.  You feel up to explaining what the fuck this Relena chick and Cathy fey are doin’ here?”

“Shit.  Fuck.  Yeah, lemme up, Tro.”

He didn’t want to, but his arms loosened.  I took his hand before he pulled away completely and I levered myself upright.  I waited for the dizziness and nausea to hit, but I was totally in the clear.  Just really tired.  And hungry.  I turned back around and leaned down to give my consort a warm kiss on his lips.  “You do good work, babe.  I feel great.”

His jaw clenched.

I ran my fingertips over the bunched muscles and his tension just sort of bled away.  Not for a minute did I think I’d gotten outta all the explanations and apologies, but at least he didn’t look like he was gonna throw me over his shoulder and take off for parts unknown.

“Where…” I began, turning to get the full 360 view.  My gaze landed on the family photos atop the mantle piece and—seeing those four smiling faces answered my question.  Shocked and stinging, I bleated, “Why the hell are we here?”

“Ask Wiener,” Solo replied tightly.  At my questioning look, he gestured beyond the load-bearing wall.  “He’s in the kitchen.”

So was everyone else.  Cathy, Hilde, and Heero.  Mareen and Relena.  Leia and Mariemaia.

I looked from one tense expression to the next.  Well, now this was a party waiting to happen.

I addressed our current fey allies first.  “Nobody’s kissing Winner,” I informed them flatly.  

Mariemaia’s eyes narrowed.  “On the phone, you said you would deal with him.  I want to see it.”

“Winner,” I called — and lemme just say how very satisfying to was to watch him jump.

“Yes?” he squeezed out.

“I’m gonna give you three choices.”

“Not this again,” I thought I heard Chang mutter.

I lifted my bare right hand.  “The Sicarian, the sword, or servitude to your kind.”

He looked from me, to the blade still in Chang’s grip, and back to me again.  “What—what does servitude entail?”

“Everything you have acquired — properties, favors, knowledge, money — all of it is used to promote peace among the fey and between fey and humans.”  I glanced at Cathy.  “Provided one person agrees to help.”

She visibly startled when she realized I was talking to her.  “You are asking me to—?”

“You’re free to do whatever you choose.  If you choose to continue working with the resistance, this would be a good place to start.”

“You want me to join the resistance?” Winner chuckled.

“No.  You will serve your people.”  I glanced at Cathy.  “For the greater good.”

She blinked at me and then a tiny, soft smile curled her lips.

I demanded of the accused, “What’s it gonna be, Winner?  Are we going to give Mariemaia a show or not?”

His blue eyes shifted to each of us in turn.  Then he closed them and, with clear distaste, chose: “I will serve.”

Of course he would.  Hadn’t he been doing that all along thanks to the Zero programming shit?

I faced off with Mariemaia and said, “You know a master named Quinze?”

Her brows quirked.  “Yes, of course.”

“A pal of yours?”

She shrugged indifferently.  Clearly trying to downplay whatever connection — be it an alliance or hatred — of the guy.

“Well, he’s retired.  Permanently.”

Her eyes widened.

“And the Nithlyn fey are… disorganized over it.”

She smirked.  Ambition flashed in her blue eyes.  “I’ll see what I can do.”

As she turned to go, I called out, “Hey!  Go easy, huh?”

“Waste not, want not,” she retorted as if speaking to a child.  I shut up and let her leave.

The door shut behind them and Yuy pulled out his phone.  “Is everyone in position?” he asked, waited, listened for the response.  “Good.  Allow Mariemaia’s forces to pull back.  Maintain the perimeter until further notice.”

He glanced at Trowa, who nodded, and then placed a second call.  This time, he stepped from the room as it connected.  “Sylvia,” he breathed, his voice softening.

I suppressed the urge to wince.  Trowa wasn’t the only one who deserved a sincere apology.

“I don’t understand,” Relena’s mother informed us all.  “Why won’t you even consider—?”

I cued Relena.  She could handle this one.  Which she did by sliding into the neighboring seat, reaching for her mother’s hand, and saying, “I need you.”

And that pretty much summed it up.

“Cathy?” I invited, gesturing her to the chair opposite Winner’s.

Hilde gave her shoulder a squeeze and Cathy stepped forward.  Winner visibly braced himself.

“This will not hurt,” she promised.

“There is more than one kind of pain.”

“Which you have become adept at dishing out, haven’t you?  It is time for that to end.”  She slid into the seat and stretched her arms out across the tabletop.  “Give me your hands.”

Reluctantly, he did.

Cathy  didn’t grasp his hands, merely allowed them to rest on top of her open palms, but there was and instant connection.  We all felt it, saw it in the sudden tensing of Winner’s body.

“You have been changed by the philosophers,” Cathy told him.

Winner frowned in confusion.

“It has been bound up in your core for too many millennia.”

“What is it?” he asked, naked curiosity making him appear more boyish than ever.

I considered filling him in, but maybe it wasn’t my place.  And also, maybe I didn’t have the right perspective.  I looked at Tro.  He was watching me closely.  Our gazes held for a long moment, and then he turned to Winner.  

“What they did is no longer necessary.  You’ve completed the task that the philosophers assigned you.  You’ve weakened the masters.  Now it’s time for the resistance to come forward.”

“You… you’re talking about a return to the old ways,” Winner surmised, his eyes narrowing.  “It won’t work.  The old kinships are long forgotten.  The fey do not remember—”

“Then we will help them remember,” Heero Yuy said, just now stepping into the room and throwing me a furious look.  Yikes.  He turned his attention to Chang and continued, “What will it take for the clans to release the heads in their archives back to us?”

“I do not know, but I will endeavor to find out.  If doing so will mean peace.”

It wouldn’t.  Given what had happened at Nithlyn moments after their master had been destroyed, we were gonna have to come up with a stable power structure for the fey.  Something that — to my knowledge — had never existed before.

_The Silencer would know._

I squashed the thought.

_The threat of the Sicarian made them pause._

I squashed that thought, too.

“We should consider moving to a more secure location,” Yuy declared.

“Sounds good to me,” Solo piped up.  “Where—”

“No,” I interrupted.  “Hold on.  If we keep Winner’s people from contacting him, we’re gonna be in for another fight.”  It went without saying that this house was not the best place for that to happen.  Sentimental value or no.  “Cathy, how long will it take for you to work your magic?”

“Not long.  Just… it’s been a while.”

I asked Trowa, “Winner’s army?”

“If they haven’t taken their own lives, then most are in holding cells.”

I nodded.  “OK, this is how it’s gonna work.  Winner goes back to the Barton Mansion.”  Everyone stiffened.  Quatre Winner’s face blanked in shock.  I continued, “Where he’ll begin the process of negotiating for the return of his people.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Solo sputtered, floored by my decision.

“Then they’ll be introduced to Cathy, who will persuade them to join the resistance.  Or, that is to say, the Silencer’s kinship.”

Hilde smirked at Winner’s sudden scowl.  She mused, “I think you’ll find that our demands are reasonable.  For the most part.”

We all knew they wouldn’t be.  Thanks to the inside information that Lucrezia Noin could provide on the vastness of Winner’s empire, we would clean him out.  He’d have his house in Boston for the sake of sheltering those in his kinship, but little else.

“Ah, here it is,” Cathy said with satisfaction and Winner sucked in a sudden breath.

“Here what is?” Solo wanted to know.

“I’ve found his heart.”  At this, her hands moved closer together, then she flicked her wrists and suddenly Winner was supporting her in his open palms and she appeared to be cupping something in her hands.  A light — not unlike a will-o’-the-wisp — pulsed in the empty air above her palms.  “Quatre,” she whispered gently, “you may trust me to take good care of you.”

He relaxed and smiled.  A genuine smile of innocence and happiness.  “I do, Cathy.”

“And we will trust you to help us create a fair and just world for all fey.”

“So I pledge,” Winner intoned.

“So it shall be.”  With Cathy’s words, the swirling light solidified into an image — a hologram? — of an actual beating heart.  It was there for only the briefest moment, and then it swirled and spun, tightening into a small orb of light again.  Cathy leaned forward and blew softly, spreading her fingers wide and the light drifted toward Winner’s chest.  It pulsed once against his clothing and then disappeared beneath.

She leaned back.  “It is done.  He is a servant of fey-kind and will remain so even if I should be killed—” Her gaze touched upon me.  “—or destroyed.”

We all absorbed that in silence.

“So.  That’s it?” Solo asked.

“Yes,” Cathy answered.

“We are allies now,” Winner happily affirmed.

My brother shifted, turned toward me with arms crossed over his chest.  “Duo.  A word,” he bit out.  “Please.”

Oh, hell.  What was his problem?

I followed him out of the kitchen and over to the stairs.  Two sets of footsteps behind mine told me that Trowa and probably Chang had invited themselves along.

Solo barely spared them a glance as he ushered me into his old room.  He waited for them to cross the threshold before he shut the door.  Then he just stood there, staring at it for a moment before asking, “What the fuck was that?”

“What the hell did it look like?”

“I don’t know, dear brother, that’s why I’m damn well asking!”  He turned on his heel to face me and I could not recall a single other time in my life when he had looked so completely furious.  “Because that shit downstairs sure as hell wasn’t what we agreed to!  Or did you forget?”

“I remember what we agreed!”

“Good.  Then get your ass down there and fry the fucker to a crisp!”

My hands fisted.  “This is bigger than that, Solo!”

“Who gives a shit!  I want the asshole who killed Mom and Dad to pay!”

“He is!”

“Oh, yeah.  He looks real torn up about it.”

“Jesus fried a fucking chicken!  Do you have even the slightest idea what’s in that jerk’s head?  The fey need him alive and—”

“You promised.  You swore.”  He glanced from Trowa to Chang.  “We were all there.”

“I made that promise when I thought it was the only way to protect you.”

“It is!”

“I destroy him and all hell will break loose!”

Solo shook his head at me in befuddlement.

“Millennia!” I shouted in his face.  “How many fey has he met?  Probably all of them.  How many d’you think he can manipulate?  Probably about the same number—”

“An’ you’re letting him walk away whistling fuckin’ Dixie!  People _died_ to get us here, Duo.”

I reared back.  “So.  I should just shut up and be the fucking Sicarian.  That’s all I am?  A weapon?”

“Jesus H. Christ!  Is that what this is about?  Fucking hellfire, I would give anything to be able to do what you can.  So would anyone in the clan!”

Wufei shifted, eyes narrowed in denial, but I wasn’t about to drag him into this.  This was between me and my brother.

“Y’know, maybe if you’d gotten lost in that fucking forest instead of me, it would be you, but it’s not.  I’ve got this fucking curse and I decide who I use it on.  Getting rid of Winner when there is another option is stupid!”

“What the fuck is this other option, then?  I don’t remember hearing about it when we were sitting around the dinner table.”

“I didn’t know about it then!”

“And that gives you the right to pull the fucking rug out from under us?”

“Who the hell is this ‘us’, Solo?  Does anyone else in this room have a beef with my decision?”

No one spoke up, but Solo was long past being able to listen to anyone besides himself.  “You don’t get it.  We’re a Goddamn team!”

“I know that!”

“So act like it!”

“Oh, OK.  Let’s take a vote, shall we?  Who’s all for fucking the fey world over so we can get a little Maxwell family vengeance?”

“The whole fucking fey world is not our problem!”

“You know what?  I wish it wasn’t.  But the fact of the matter is that we’re up to our fucking ears in it and it’s not going away.  We can either do some good or—”

“Whatever.  I get it.  Message received loud and clear: the great Sicarian has spoken!” he mockingly droned, hands raised skyward and fingers waggling.

God, I had never been so furious in my life.  “Fine!  Do whatever the fuck you want!  Ask to borrow Chang’s fucking sword and go chop off his head.  I won’t stop you.”

Solo shoved past me and slammed out of the room.

I looked to Chang, lifting my hands in a gesture of helpless anger.  He was already moving toward the door in Solo’s wake, hand raised in my direction — a gesture for me to give him a moment.

He closed the door behind him.

I turned around and punched the nearest section of wall.  As hard as I could.  The house shuddered.  Beneath my knuckles, the wall caved and cratered, plaster cracking and turning to powdered dust under the force of the Sicarian.

God, I hated it.  Hated that I wasn’t able to control it.  Hated that I’d been so sure I wouldn’t destroy fey so long as I didn’t touch them, if I just focused my intent, if I — God forbid — had a little faith in myself.

I staggered back and landed hard on the foot of Solo’s old bed.  The frame creaked and I nearly bounced right off the mattress, but Trowa was already sitting down next to me, his hand reaching for mine.

“Did I fuck up?” I asked him.  “With Winner?”

God knows, I wanted him _gone,_  but I thought of the brutal, bloody chaos that I’d left behind me at Nithlyn.  Mariemaia was cleaning up my mess this time.  All I could think was how easy it would be for the whole fey world to devolve into that.  If the masters were suddenly removed from power and sent back to wherever they used to be, who would keep fey from turning on each other in either a bid for power or in retribution for past wrongs?  I’d seen with my own eyes what the consequences were if the fey of a dell suddenly found themselves freed from their master and even the clan would agree that total lawlessness was the very last thing we needed.

What we needed was someone like Winner to keep everyone in line.  Just as much as we needed someone like Cathy to guide them.  Which meant that we needed others to protect them.  I had the sneaking suspicion that I knew exactly where and upon whose shoulders _that_ fan-fucking-tastic honor would fall.

Jesus.  Chicken.  Fuck-fuck-fuck.

When my thoughts had run their course and Trowa still hadn’t answered my question, I girded my loins and looked him in the eyes.  He was watching me and the look on his face was this aching, helpless pride.  “You were thinking like a fey.”

Mariemaia’s childlike voice rang in my mind: _Waste not, want not._

I swallowed thickly.

Trowa asked, “How did you know about Cathy?”

Of all the questions he deserved answers to, that was the first one out of his mouth?  Jesus, where the hell was that road map?  My shoulders slumped with defeat.  “I’ll tell you everything,” I promised, “but I need your help first.”

“What do you need?”

God, he destroyed me.  Even after all the shit I’d put him through, he never left me hanging or let me down.  I didn’t deserve him.  But I needed him.  “I need you to help me—” Deep breath. “—take off our wedding rings.”

A beat of silence.  “Will you tell me why?”

He wasn’t refusing, but he was confused.  Why wouldn’t he be when the mere thought of doing this had caused me profound misery just a couple of days ago?

“It’s… it’s complicated.  Do you trust me?”  Or had I somehow screwed that up, too?

“I trust you to tell me the truth.”

“I will,” I vowed again.  “Soon.  Within twenty-four hours.”  Hopefully, we’d be somewhere safe and private by then.  This house surely was not the place for the long, long, _long_  talk we were gonna have.

Trowa nodded and reached for the fingerless glove on his left hand.  I peeled my own gloves off and then I held out my bare hands.  Both of them.  

“Let’s try each other’s.  At the same time,” I proposed and he complied without question or complaint.  I got a grip on his ring just as his fingers pinched mine.  I nodded.  “Now,” I said.  He tugged and I pulled.

The silver rings rolled off into our respective palms.  I let out the breath I’d been holding.  “Thank God.”

I could feel Trowa’s tension.  His curiosity and apprehension.  

“I will explain everything.  I promise.  Just as soon as we get where we’re going.”

“And Solo?”

I opened my mouth on a shrug, but the sound of a car engine roaring down the street cut me off.  I had the sinking suspicion that I knew who was behind the wheel.  Fuck.

I stood up and held out my hand to Trowa.  “C’mon.  Let’s finish sorting this shit out and get outta here.”

Relena and Mareen were speaking with Yuy when we returned to the first floor.  The fey pardoned himself and marched right up to my consort.  “Your companion and mine need to have a long conversation.”

Trowa looked at me and I nodded.  “I owe Sylvia a major apology.”  At the very least.

My husband addressed his fellow fey on my behalf.  “I will arrange it.”

Damn it.  Yet another thing I had to ask him to do for me.

“Hey, boss!” Hilde called and I flinched, momentarily caught in the ghost of that memory with the camera.  Back in the Silencer’s mindscape.  “We’re ready to roll.  What do you want us to do with Winner?”

“Leave him here,” Trowa told her, and I silently concurred: the jerkwad had found his own way here; he could figure out how to get home.

Trowa spoke to Heero, “Have you contacted Master O?”

“Yes, he and his people have pulled out.”

He nodded and then turned to me.  “What did you say to Cathy — your exact words — in the dell?”

I wasn’t sure I could remember them in the midst of my skull slowly imploding, but I gave it a shot.  “I told her we were friends of the Silencer’s and that she was free to come with us if she wanted.  The rest was all Relena.”  I nodded toward her and her mother.

“Good.  Give me a moment.”

Trowa approached Cathy and I sidled over to my former partner in crime.

“Is he very angry with you?” she asked worriedly.

“Oh, we haven’t gotten around to that yet, but he will be.”  Her legitimately concerned look had me chuckling.  “Don’t worry; I’ll just scratch him behind the ears and it’ll be forgotten.”

Mareen gave her daughter a shove.  “Go deal with this mess of yours,” she scolded lightly.

Relena smiled sheepishly.  “Excuse me a moment.”

Amazingly, she marched right over to my massive husband and politely waited for him to finish speaking with Cathy and turn around.

“I taught her well,” Mareen warmly approved.

It couldn’t have been an easy job, raising a child with the power Relena wielded — also, there was the fact that Mareen wasn’t blameless in this “mess” — but I kept my mouth shut on the subject.  Relena was hardly an unstoppable, charismatic force now, but she didn’t flinch under Trowa’s unreadable glare as she hurriedly explained whatever she thought she needed to tell him on my behalf.

“Thanks for choosing to stay with her,” I told her mother instead of going over there and chivalrously accepting all the blame.  I was just too damn tired.

“Thank you for keeping her safe for me,” Mareen answered.

“That sounds like a farewell,” I observed.

“Did it?  I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

I asked with surprise, “Aren’t you both ready for a little quiet anonymity?”

“Is that what you want?  For both of us to get out of your way?”

“Are you kidding?  I’ll take all the help I can get.”

“That’s good to hear,” Relena said, returning from her chat with Trowa, who was two steps behind her.  “Because we’ve accepted an invitation from Sylvia Noventa to visit her family’s estate in Switzerland.”

Heero came up to us just in time to add, “It used to be the council headquarters.”

I grinned at Relena.  “You’d be amazing.”

She shrugged playfully.  “We’ll see.”

Yes, I supposed we would.

In the meantime, we had places to be.  Except for one detail.

I looked in on Quatre Winner, still sitting at the table, doodling patterns in the wood grain.  “You killed my parents.”

He looked me in the eye and admitted, “I had it done, yes.”

“I can obliterate anyone who tries to come between me and you.”

He froze, swallowed.  “We are allies,” he insisted.

Yep, just like the creep had wanted all along.  He finally had his fucking alliance with the Sicarian and the Silencer.

It burned me up that he’d won, but this was bigger than vengeance or even justice.  Shit between the fey and human worlds was about to take a sharp 90-degree turn.  I could only hope that we were steering things in a better direction.

Had Zero shown Winner this possible future?  How prepared was he for it?  How prepared were we?  I had proof that the philosophers had an agenda that, if realized, might just lead towards total anarchy.  The masters had centuries invested in the current system.  Hell, even the Fates claimed us as their pawns.  All things considered, I was willing to take my chances that Trowa and I would manage Winner better than he was hoping to manage us.

If that made us allies, so fucking be it.

I informed him, “And as long as you are faithful to the spirit and letter of that agreement, you and I won’t have a problem.”

“What about your brother?”

“You told him we’re allies now.”

Winner fidgeted.  “He doesn’t believe me.”

“Then I guess it’s your job to convince him, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

I turned on my heel and was not surprised to see Trowa lurking on the other side of the wall.  Hovering.  Doing his job as my consort.  I moved closer to him and let him drape an arm over my shoulders.

We left in two cars.  Hilde, Relena, and Mareen in one.  Heero driving the second.  Trowa and I let Cathy have shotgun.  It gave us the opportunity to do some subtle cuddling in the backseat.

“Silencer,” Cathy said, quietly, and I turned away from the receding view of the house I’d spent the first six years of my life in.

“I am called Trowa now,” he informed her.

She glanced back over her shoulder at him.  “The philosophers?”

“Yes.”

“So we’ll have the chance to get to know each other all over again.”

I wondered how painful it had been the first time around.

“He’s the same as always,” Heero reported, his eyes on the road ahead.  “He just smiles more now.”

“That,” Cathy replied, grinning, “I cannot wait to see for myself.”

I leaned back far enough to look into his eyes and grin.  Right on cue, his lips curved into a soft, genuine smile.

“I’ll be,” Cathy breathed.  We ignored her.  Let her have that one for free.

I tucked my head against Trowa’s shoulder and he leaned his cheek against the top of my head.  Our knees bumped as Heero took a right turn.  Houses sailed past the window and, suddenly, I knew where Solo had gone.

“Hey, can we take a left up here?” I asked Trowa.

He rubbed my arm in reward for letting him do my talking for me and relayed the request to Heero.

At my directions, we pulled into the local cemetery and cruised down the lane and past a couple of parked cars until I saw a scowling Chinese guy standing in the distance.  I tugged on Trowa’s jacket, shifting toward the door, and he said, “This is far enough.  Wait for us here.”

We got out as Hilde pulled over right behind our car.  No one tried to follow us as I meandered toward the pair of figures in the distance, taking the longest route I could while still moving in their general direction.

“You are not ready to talk to Solo?” Trowa mused, noting my lackadaisical progress.

“Eh.”  I shrugged.  “Dunno what I’m gonna say yet.”  I grabbed onto his shirt sleeve, near the elbow.  “Any suggestions?”

“I’ve never had a brother.”

“What would you say to Heero?”

“Get over it.”

I had to stop and bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.  I took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly.

In the quiet of the moment, Chang’s voice was carried in our direction by the morning breeze.  “—only have one brother, Maxwell.”

“Yeah?  So?”

I grinned at his petulant tone.  He was starting to figure out that he’d been acting like a jerk.  I said loudly, “So how about you let your doofus dumb-bro have a shot at explaining?”

Solo whipped around and nearly fell over.  On top of our parents’ graves, no less.  I dropped my grip on Trowa’s arm and moved to stand next to my brother.

“Never seen the headstone before,” I offered, surprised by the pale pink color of the granite.

“I made rubbings,” he reminded me.

“I remember.  Thanks.  But you never brought me here.”

“You were too sick.”

Yeah, I guess I had been.  Back in the day.

“Besides, it just woulda made you cry.”

“Would not.”

He didn’t argue with me.  Shrugging a shoulder, he plucked at a couple of longish blades of grass.  “You woulda asked lotsa questions, though.”

That was probably true.  I sank down next to him and placed my left hand on the polished surface of the stone.  “I remember them.  Their faces.  Because of the album.”

He nodded.

“Thanks for keeping it,” I said.

“Why’d you let Winner get away with it?”

I squinted up, getting a grave-eye view from our parents’ resting place. “It turns out he’s worth more alive than dead.”

“To the fey?”

“To us, too.  You could go home now.”  The instant the words left my mouth, I knew they were true.  My little good-bye chat with Winner had made it so; Winner would never cross me, never let anything happen to my brother on his territory.  I really had made the right decision letting the little fucker keep his throne in Boston.

Solo froze, blinked down at the stone resting flush with the ground, and sighed.  “Naw, I can’t.”

“How the hell come?”

“See, I got this little brother who’s a real pain in the ass.”

“Always getting himself into shit?”

“Yeah.  He’s the type.”

“So marry him off.  Let him be someone else’s problem.”

“Tried that,” Solo admitted, tilting his head to the side and continuing on in a tone that was more the kind you’d hear from a dude debating minor car repair with a buddy.  “But he’s a handful.  The guy’s poor husband is having a helluva time keepin’ up.”

“Well, maybe he can get some help,” I suggested through a smirk.  From the mirroring expression on Solo’s face, I knew he was thinking of the fucking thousands of resistance fey — the loyal-to-the-Healer fey — the same as I was.  “It’s not like you don’t got your own life to live.”

“Yeah…” he drawled slowly.  And then he said, “But it wouldn’t be very interesting.”

I paused in our game of wit.  “Yeah?”

Finally, he looked at me.  “Yeah.”

“Huh,” I said.

He punched me in the arm.

I snorted a laugh.  “Weak,” I critiqued.

“Oh, yeah?”  He lunged.

“Jesus Christ, Solo!  Knock it the hell off with the nuggies already!”

“Stop fucking swearing in the middle of this damn cemetery!  Were you raised by some shit-for-brains wolves or somethin’?”

“Wolves can’t talk, you moron!” I shouted, squiggling out of his grip and shoving at his shoulder.

“How would you know, butt nugget?”

I stood up.  “’Cuz I thought your last girlfriend was one, so I looked ‘em up.  Turns out she was just hairy.”

He swiped at me with one of his long arms.  I danced back, giggling.  “Missed me, missed me, now you gotta—!”

My face mashed into his jacket.  “Shut you up,” he muttered, subjecting me to one of his unbreakable bear hugs.  I reached around and gave his back a brotherly slap.

“But seriously, Duo, we gotta focus on the teamwork skills or I really will lose my shit.”

“And then I’d be real sorry… for the poor bastard who finds it.”

He cuffed me lightly on the back of the head.  “And you damn well better tell Tro you’re sorry for scaring the living daylights outta him.  Seriously.  The look on his face when you fell outta the taxi on him — I’d thought it couldn’t get any worse from that time you were taken.”

Holy hell.

I sighed.  “OK, OK.  I’ll make it up to him by doing that thing he likes when I—”

“Jesus, spare me the details.  ‘s all I ask.”

It wasn’t, but that was OK.

I grinned.  My brother and I, somehow, we really were OK.

Until he farted, that is.

“Holy hell in grandma’s bicycle basket!” I swore, shoving him away.  “You’re riding with Chang!”

“Please no,” the bystander in question pleaded with no inflection whatsoever.  “I can take no more.”

Solo smirked.  “Giving in already?  I had no idea you were this easy.”

I covered my face and headed for Trowa, wrapped an arm around his waist and started walking him toward the cars, but then I stopped.  Looked back.  Thought about it for all of two seconds.

Then I was dragging him over to the double-headstone.

“Yo, dumb-bro!  Let’s go get some chow!”

“You go on!” I called over the gurgling of my empty stomach.

“Duo?” Trowa murmured, baffled by my behavior.  Hell, he’d probably heard my stomach rumble.

“Trowa,” I said in a formal tone, “I’d like you to meet my parents.  Alfred and Helen.”  I gestured to the headstone and he obligingly shifted his attention to the lettering.  I continued, “Mom, Dad.  This is my husband, Trowa.  And I want you to know that he makes me laugh and he braids my hair and he’s good to me.”

Trowa’s arm went across my upper back.  His fingers curled around my bicep.  And then he said, quite respectfully, “A pleasure to meet you, Mister Maxwell.  Missus Maxwell.”

I looked up, smiling at the wonder of my fey consort playing along.  God, but he really did love me.  Enough to become the Silencer again if it meant trapping Quatre Winner.  And he loved me enough to let the bastard keep on breathing air on the chance that it meant fewer times that I’d have to be the Sicarian.  He really, really did love me.

And, amazingly, he wasn’t done speaking.

“Your son, Duo, has taught me what love is and I will love him for the rest of my existence.”

My eyes suddenly got all hot and swimmy.  And wouldn’t ya know it, that was right when Trowa looked up.

“Duo,” he breathed, rolling my name like it was a stanza in a lullaby.  “I did not say those things to make you sad.”

I shook my head.  “Maxwell men don’t cry when we’re sad,” I bragged through a crooked smile.

His lips curled and his green eyes sparkled with understanding.

I leaned in, and he tilted his chin down and kissed me.  Just a touch of lips, nothing more, nothing less.

We were standing over my parents’ graves, after all.

_Beep—beep!_

I startled and glanced toward the lane.  Solo was leaning across a barely-tolerant Wufei, waving at us through the passenger-side window of their car.  He pointed to his mouth and I very clearly read the word “hungry!” on his lips.

Jesus.  What a clod.

Trowa took my hand.  This time, when we walked away from the gravestone, I didn’t turn back.  There really was no turning back.  What’s done is done, as they say.

It was supposed to be a comfort, I supposed, but it wasn’t.  Not when my thoughts almost immediately turned toward the Silencer — the _original_ one.

Oh, how I was not looking forward to owning up to all that.  Well, at least I hadn’t told the guy my name.  Or my consort’s name.  Or much of anything.  Right?  I mean, it could be worse.

“How could this not get any more worse?” Solo barked.

His voice bounced around the concrete bunker-esque room.  Yup, we were back in the resistance HQ at Niagara.  We’d settled in, gotten cleaned up, and choked down some chow.  Now the four of us were at the part when I did the explaining thing.  It seemed somehow fitting to be back in the room where I’d assaulted that old, pokey mattress.  It was still lying in a moldering heap under a long, thin, straight gouge in the wall.

I didn’t dare look at Trowa.  Hadn’t since the moment I’d mentioned the unlikely debris that had struck the sub and Chang had mused snootily, “Oh, goodness.  Maxwell, could that possibly have been the suitcase full of explosives that you tossed into the falls?”

“Thanks for the fucking concussion,” I’d drawled.

“Hemorrhaging and swelling of the brain,” my husband had _snarled._

And right then was when I’d decided I was better off not looking at his face as I told the rest of my tale.

“So, lemme get this straight,” my brother demanded, pacing left and then right.  “On the word of some chick with magical voice powers, you decide to ditch Sylvia _at the fucking ER_  to go have a chat with some dream-version of Trowa who fucking sends you into _a dell to rescue some fey we don’t know jack shit about.”_  He stopped pacing and looked at me.  “Does that about cover it?”

“Jesus fried a chicken!  Were you even paying attention?  I thought you were—”  I deepened my voice and did a cheesy impersonation of his swagger.  “—king of rocking this magic shit!”

“What’d I miss?”

I rolled my eyes.  “Only the most important fucking bits!  Jesus.  Chang.  You speak Clod.  Explain it to this jackass.”

Chang’s gaze moved from me, to Solo’s indignant expression, to the figure standing at my back.  Whatever Chang saw in my husband’s face had him blindly grabbing for Solo’s arm.  “I will endeavor to educate him on the intricacies of fey magic and metallurgy elsewhere.  Excuse us.”

Oh.  Shit.

The door clanged shut.

I cleared my throat.  “OK, um, look, before you lose your shit all over the place, I just want to say one thing.”

A moment of silence pulsed between us.  “Go on.”

Stronger men than me would have felt those two words dancing down their spine and shivered.  Just sayin’.  “He wasn’t you.  I knew he wasn’t you.  So I treated him like he was any other fey.  I was careful.”

“You made a fey bargain with him.”

“No, he made a fey bargain with me and—”

“Duo.”

“I’m sorry, OK?  I wasn’t thinking straight!  I should have called you from Oswego and asked you to come find me so we could take our rings off and I’d never go back there again.”

A cool hand bushed my braid aside and a chilly fingertip traced a familiar pattern on the back of my neck.  Jesus.  It was the scar on his cheek.  He was lightly sketching it on my skin.

I drew a deep breath, switching gears from explanations to something deeper.

“I’m yours,” I reminded him.

“And?”

I wracked my brain.  I’d thanked him for healing me; I’d apologized; I proclaimed my love in front of my parents’ graves; I’d even given him caveman posturing rights just now.  What the hell more did he want from—?

Suddenly, I remembered that moment from the other day when I’d spazzed out over the news of the Silencer’s betrothal.  I remembered how how satisfied he’d looked when I’d just about lost my cool in a jealous rage over that damn betrothal.  Finally, I could make an educated guess as to what he was angling for.

I squared my shoulders, turned around, and spoke right in his feral face, “You’re mine.”

His lips curved and parted, revealing those sharp teeth.  His eyes flashed.  His fingers curled inward and shimmered with fey claws.

I reached up and tugged the first jumpsuit snap open so I could press my palm to the center of his chest.  “You’re mine,” I repeated, softly this time, and a shudder worked its way through his body.

When it released him, he was no less feral, although he was was considerably more youthful.  I moved until my hands cradled the face of the fey boy I’d married and I breathed against his lips, “My consort.”

He lurched toward me, but drew himself up short, snapping at the air just millimeters from my unprotected lips.  

I didn’t back down.  “My husband.”

He rolled his head to the side and ran his smiling lips and glistening teeth along the edge of my thumb.

“My Trowa.”

He lifted one hand and gently, very gently slipped one sharp-tipped finger between the front layers of my tunic.  I held still as he followed the edge down to the knot at my waist.  The tiniest of tugs had me scrambling to loosen the knot before he sliced through it.  The jacket gaped open.  I shrugged it off.  It fell to the floor, a soft crumple of fabric.

I felt the edge of a claw slip into the waistband of the trousers.  I got rid of those, too: the codpiece and leggings landed with a prolonged whisper as they trailed down my legs.  Throughout all of this, Trowa continued staring at me.  A feral predator tracking his prey.

I toed off my boots, but left my socks on.  Hey, the floor was fucking concrete, all right?

A soft rumble vibrated deep in Trowa’s chest.  He lifted a claw-like finger to my lips, pressed the sharp tip to the center of my lower lip.

I startled when I felt the skin break.  He darted in and licked up the droplet of blood.  Paused.  Watched me.

Was that it?  Were we done?

His cool palm pressed against the center of my chest and I felt my pulse thrum in my veins.

No, this wasn’t over.  Whatever this was, it was just getting started.

His luminous eyes looked away from my gaze and focused on my chest.  And then I felt one nail pierce my skin.  I gasped in shock at the feeling, and then he was carving a quick curly-q into my flesh.  I felt it.  I saw the power of the Sicarian burning the same pattern into his skin, reversed but in every other way identical.

I glanced down at my own chest in time to watch the raw edges of my sliced skin meld back together.

I was breathing hard, confused and—and—I dunno.  Confused and _something._

Trowa’s hand moved to my belly.  His palm rested against my navel for a moment, and then his fingers flexed and he dragged them down, cutting four fine lines into my flesh.  I hissed, but didn’t try to stop him.  The lines themselves weren’t life-threateningly deep.  Just enough to bleed, but they didn’t.

Thanks to the Sicarian, they healed over without a trace within moments.

Trowa knelt and reached for my left foot.  I let him lift it.  He peeled my sock off and then I felt the edge of one claw against my heel.  I grabbed for his shoulder to steady myself as he drew a lazy circle on and into my foot.  Dragged that claw along my instep — I whimpered at the pure sting of it — and executed three loop-de-loops over the balls of my foot.

But it all healed — completely disappeared by the time he lowered my bare foot to the floor.

He turned his attention to my other leg and I couldn’t breathe.

His claws slashed at the widest part of my calf.  I gasped with surprise and then healed in silence.

He stood up.  He shrugged out of his oversized jumpsuit, stepped out of his too-large boots, and opened his arms.

My consort was still feral, so I knew there was more.  I almost told him “no.”  But whatever he was doing was not genuinely harming me.  They’d stung, initially, but now the places he’d gouged on my body hummed with energy.  I thought of the master-slave dynamic that was so much a part of the fey world right now.  I thought of the kinships we were trying to revive.  I thought of the declaration I’d permitted in ignorance.

Was I really going to just let him finish doing whatever he was doing to me?  Without, y’know, asking for details?

Did I trust him that much?

“Duo,” he said, interrupting my hesitation.

I had no idea what to say.  Or do.

“Let me protect you from the Silencer.”

My breath whooshed out of me.  “Is that what this is?”

He did not nod, but his voice was soft and familiar even though his entire body was poised to rip me apart.  “I know this hurts you, but without it he may enter your mind again.  Without your knowledge or permission.”

That shook me — rattled me thoroughly.  What had happened — my visits to his mindscape — Jesus.  It really had been — it _was _—__   _really_ fucking dangerous.

Trowa drew in a slow breath and continued, every word deepening my fear: “He may draw you into his mind and next time he may trap you there.  Rings or no.”

I was shivering now.  My chest and belly, the sole of my left foot, and the top of my right calf were all burning.

“There is a gateway between your minds now,” Trowa explained.  “Allow me to close it.”

I had never been more terrified in my life, but I was also awed.  I didn’t for a second believe that Trowa would be cool with me refusing him, but he was doing what I’d asked of him before all this started — back at the restaurant before we’d boarded the bus for Niagara.  He was telling me why he needed me to agree to do things his way and also telling me what could happen if I didn’t.

 _Give me a choice,_ I’d said, _even if one option clearly sucks._

“I… I’m not saying ‘no’,” I told him, addressing his biggest fear as accommodatingly as he was addressing mine, “but what if we need to know what he knows?”

“Your ring is in my pocket.”

“And if I put it on again?”

His face twisted with rage at the thought, but he answered, “The door will reopen.”

I nodded.  “OK.  Just— I don’t _wanna_ go back there again—”  My fear was a helluva lot stronger than my curiosity.  Something told me that I wouldn’t be able to outsmart the Silencer.  He wouldn’t underestimate me the way G and J had.  “But, if I _have to,_ I can?”

“Yes.”

The tension in that one word was incredible — a 10.0 magnitude earthquake waiting to happen — and I understood why.  The very idea of me leaving Trowa behind was unbearable to him.  If I ever galloped off to someplace he couldn’t go—if he couldn’t protect me—

It would kill him.

I stepped into his arms, pressed my quaking body to his skin and, wonder of wonders, our skin was the same temperature now.

He exhaled hard, wrapping me up close.

I felt one hand settle on the top of my head.  His fingers dug down into my hair, scratched literal furrows in my scalp.  I grabbed for the back of his shoulders and held on.  Yes, it hurt me, but it also hurt him.  Oh my God, there was absolutely nothing he wouldn’t do for me.  For my sake.

He would burn.  He __was__  burning.  The Sicarian responded to each assault without regard for the intent behind it.  It didn’t care that my husband was trying to keep me safe, but I did.  I sure as hell did.

“Last one,” Trowa breathed against my neck and I nodded.

“Do it.”

One hand pressed against my spine, just below my shoulders.  The other pressed just above my hips.  Then his fingers curled, fey-claws digging in on either side of my back bone and suddenly my nerves — my entire body was on _fire._

I was too breathless to scream.

Trowa managed a whimper.

And then we shattered.  The pain turning from searing-white to golden pixie dust, showering and sparkling over every inch of my skin.  Or, at least that’s what it felt like.

Trowa sagged against me and I lowered both of us to our knees on the clothing pile.

I held onto him until he was strong enough to lift his arms and hold onto me.  After a while, I asked him, “How?  How did you know?  I mean, what could happen or how to stop it?”

“We all know,” he told me.  “We all know how to protect the mind and our truth therein.  It is our most basic right.  As juveniles, just emerged, it is the first bargain we make with another fey.”

I frowned.  “But… my lip.  You, y’know, pricked it and sorta, um.  Doesn’t that count as a kiss?  I thought fey didn’t do that with, er, other fey.”

“We don’t,” he admitted.  “A kiss is only enjoyable with one’s companion.”

“Uh-huh.  So how come you…?”

I felt Trowa’s lips curl against my shoulder.  “I was feral.  That part was purely for me.”

I snorted.  “Well.  Feral or not, you can have some more anytime you want.”

His hands rubbed up and down my back, doing that warm-slick-magic thing again and sending my body temperature soaring.  “Anytime?” he checked.

“Oh, fuck-fuck-fuck.  Can we please make to our bed first?  The nice, new one, I mean.  Not that pile of shit over there.  I promise I’ll make it worth the wait.”

“My Duo,” he breathed, pulling back far enough to give me a tender smile.  “Twelve minutes or twelve years, you are worth any wait.”

I kissed him for that.  Then I shoved his jumpsuit at him.

“No free show?” he guessed with a smirk.

My hand shot out and I gripped him by the back of the neck.  “You can give me one,” I offered thickly.  Angled my head and nipped at his lower lip.  Watched and felt him shiver.  His lips chased after mine and I let him catch me, just for a moment, then I pulled away and started yanking clothes on.

He age-shifted up and we were out the door in record time.  We passed Jun and Andaluca on our way to the Silencer’s rooms, but neither tried to waylay us.  Or point out that our boots were sloppily laced.  Luckily for them.

Trowa and I pounded up  the steps to the room, wrenched the door open, and swung ourselves over the threshold.  I was already working my ties loose as Trowa swiped his palm under the photo of himself, Heero, and Cathy.  The photo that Hilde had taken.

I shivered.

“What is it?” Trowa asked, reaching for my arms and guiding me closer.

“Can we get new rooms?  I mean, like, this is the Silencer’s place and, now that I’ve met him, it’s kinda… awkward.”

Trowa stared at me.  “You wish to move to different rooms… at this exact moment?”

“Fuck, no,” I retorted, grabbing for the front of his jumpsuit and wrenching the snaps open.  “We are staying right here and I am having my way with you all night long.”  Trowa’s eyes flashed.  Anticipation curled his lips.  I leaned in to conclude, “And if he don’t like it, he can just get over it.”

Trowa’s brow quirked.  “Who will tell him?”

I slid my hands inside the jumpsuit and grabbed his ass.  “Not I.”

Trowa was still grinning as I walked him toward the bed.  I shoved aside the plastic bag of necessities that we’d acquired at a drug store on the way here and sat him down on the mattress.  I climbed onto his lap and kissed him.  Kissed him properly.  Massaged his neck and shoulders as his fingers dug into my braid.  I didn’t warn him that he was gonna mess it up.  He’d fix it for me later.

The fey cloth found itself a nice spot on the floor to occupy.  Trowa’s boots landed beside mine.  Our socks skittered under the bed, desk, and chair, seeking dusty corners.  The jumpsuit bunched at his waist, traversed his flexed hips, and slithered elsewhere.

I kissed his lips, soft and shallow, tasted his sigh, and when he opened to me on a pleading moan, I stroked his tongue with mine, miming a dance that he and I had taken from the ages and made ours.

God, but I loved being married to him.  Joined.  We were joined.

His arms — the general’s long arms — wound around me and his huge hands urged me closer.  I measured his shoulders and chest with my touch, pulling back to smile down at him.

“Not that I’m complaining,” I began as my hands took an inventory of his defined muscles, “but you’ve got a lot of surface area, General.”

He chuckled, rolling his hips and rocking his body closer to mine.  “What age would you like me to be?”

“You take requests?”

“Only from my companion.”

“That’s good ‘cuz I hear he’s the jealous type.”

“Hmm,” he agreed happily.

I was pretty happy, too.  Alive and with him and whatever tomorrow might bring, I was pretty sure we could handle it.  There was a whole world out there — two of them — that needed us.  Lots to do and all that.

I settled on starting in the middle and working my way ‘round.

“Duo!” he gasped as I let myself appreciate his hardening cock and heavy balls.

“Yup.  Lots more surface area,” I teased.

His hands tensed, fingers clenching around my thigh and shoulder.  I ran my fingers along the creases of his thighs and over the fragile skin in between.  Which led me to a different crevasse that could use some attention.

He shifted, opening his thighs and giving me more room to roam as I massaged one ass cheek and then the other, and then the hot spot itself.  The lube had its own place of honor on a nearby shelf, so it was only a moment’s work to slick my fingers.  His spine arched and he was biting his lip and groaning softly as I worked him, my fingertips firmly circling that ring of muscle while he pressed himself against the heel of my hand.

Jesus, he was beautiful.  And incredible.  Sexy.  Mine.  All mine.

“You wanna come like this, baby?” I asked, feathering the fingers of my left hand through his bangs.

He shook his head and reached for my arm.  I let him pull me away and I sat back on my heels, crouching between his legs.  Watched him calm down from the frenzy of bliss.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he reminded me after a moment passed without our skin touching.

“Which one was that?”

“What age do you want me to be?”

“I want you,” I replied, “to be whatever age you wanna be.”

He smiled, and then he shifted.  The general became my husband, who held out his slender hands.  When his reach came up an inch shy of being able to grab my arm, he scowled.  “Shorter arms,” he noted grumpily.

I laughed, moving to crouch over him.  “Hey, now.  Be kind to the arms I married.”

“Just the arms?”

“No.  Everything,” I corrected.  “I married all of you, baby.”

He licked his lips.  One hand smoothed over my chest and I was so tempted to close my eyes and surrender, but before I let him have me, before I dedicated myself to his pleasure, I had to tell him—

“Thank you for saving my life.  Again.”

His fingers trailed softly through my loosened braid, touching the spot on my scalp that had been a nasty, bleeding mess.  “The Sicarian didn’t protect you this time.”

I had noticed that little fact as well.  I snuggled against his side, propping myself on my left elbow and reaching for his questing fingers.  I knew he was scared.  Hell, I was kinda scared, too.  A stupid, freakish chain of events had nearly led to a stupid, fatal accident… that wouldn’t have been fatal if I’d just gone to the hospital in the first place.  “I won’t risk it again,” I promised.  “If I get hurt, I’ll get help.  Immediately.”

Some of the stress eased from his form, but I wasn’t quite finished.

“Thank you,” I began again, “for being there when I needed you.”  He looked ready to argue with me on some aspect of that, and I was sure we’d debate whatever-it-was later, but I really, really wanted him to understand that— “I need you.”  I watched the smile bloom in his expression.  “Wherever we are, whatever we do with our lives, I need you.”

He grabbed me and yanked my mouth to his.  Huh.  I guess he needed me, too.

I obliged, rubbing a leg against his before settling my knee between his thighs.  His hips shifted, seeking, and I returned to my previous objective.  I massaged him until he mewled for more.  Rocked my fingers deep inside him as his toes curled and his nails scratched at my shoulders.  Kissed the dew from his cock, painted his flushed skin with my tongue, took him deep and moved with him — every mindless thrust of his slender hips and every tug from his fisted hands in my tangled hair — and I needed him.  Every breathless pant and plea for more.  “Duo,” he said over and over and I knew I would never be able to make him stand by while I tripped off to some mindscape or tumbled into a dell.  I was never gonna be able to do that to him of my own free will ever again.

I groaned deep in my throat and his voice cracked, his fingers spasmed, and I was swallowing— _Cry for me,_  Trowa had said in the launch room—and I was tasting his tears.  I cleaned him with my tongue, eased him down, but didn’t remove my fingers from deep inside him.  I waited to see if he was gonna pull me close for a snuggle and a sleep or if he was gonna—

His green eyes focused on my face and I turned my head to kiss the inside of his bent leg.  This spot, it might be my favorite.  Top ten, definitely.

“Duo,” he breathed.

“You all right?” I checked.

“No.”  He shook his head and reached for the lube.  “I need you, too.”

God, he sounded so young.  I gently pulled my hand away, earning a soft moan and a renewed flame of desire in his eyes.

“I need you inside me, Duo.”

My cock was full-on furious that I’d been excluding it from the festivities.  “I can do that.”

I reached for the hand wipes as Trowa popped open the cap on the lube.  I cleaned up and turned back to him to find him watching me with a look I’d never seen before on his face.  Dark mystery in his hooded eyes.  “I need you in my body and my mind,” he confessed.

“Your—what?”

His lashes drifted down as he seemed to call upon his courage.  “When you were taken, I was so cold.  A new mind — empty of favors and debts and _memories _—__ I’m so cold,” he explained and I wondered at his choice of tense until he said, “without you.  I am _cold,_ Duo.”

I stretched out over him.  “Shh, baby.  I’ve got you.”

His lashes lifted and his throat worked.  “I could be the Silencer.  The only difference is you.”

“No,” I argued, struggling to figure out what he needed to hear because there was just too much for me to choose from.  So I stumbled and stuttered, “No, you’ve got a family now.  You’re a Maxwell.  And that’s—that’s a big deal, Tro.  It’s part of who you are.  And you’re part of who I am and that’s never gonna go away.  You’re—you’re so much—”

Damn it.  I just had nothing else coherent.

His hand curled around the back of my neck and he squiggled closer, his face so open and hopeful.

I took a deep breath, having no fucking clue as to what I was gonna say, but he cut me off with a soft request, “Be inside me.”

My heart twisted and thumped.  I choked on my own love for him.  So I kissed him instead.  He coated my cock with lube.  I lifted his legs, one going over my shoulder and the other around my waist and I sank into him.  It hit me then that he didn’t know.

“Trowa,” I whispered before he could roll his hips and completely derail my thoughts.  “Trowa,” I repeated to his seeking look, “you’re inside me, too.”

I brought his hand to my lips, kissed his knuckles, and pressed his palm to my chest.  “Be inside me?” I asked.

He nodded, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes.  And then I got on with my end of our deal.  I flexed my hips and he arched into me, sharing our bodies, our breaths and heartbeats.  Duo and Trowa Maxwell.  No matter who else we would have to be, we would always come back to that single truth.

He reached for my shoulders.  “Closer,” he demanded, pushing himself up from the mattress.  I wrapped my arms around him and he pulled himself into my lap.  He was hard again and every motion of his hips rubbed his cock against me.  I reached for him, petted him until he groaned and gasped and shoved me flat on my back.  

The bed was too short to support my head, but Trowa’s hand was there, holding me up as our rhythm disintegrated and I was coming and he was coming and we were grasping onto each other tight enough to bruise.   The waves slammed into me and I into him over and over as he froze, became the rock cliff that my need crashed against.  My hands scrabbled and grabbed over his back, naked in my greed for just one more pulse of perfection.  That feeling of being as deep inside him as he was inside me.

And then I was spent.  And so was he.  He collapsed on my chest, both hands fisting in my hair to keep me from impersonating a Dali timepiece melting over the foot of the bed.

With a groan, I rolled us to lie at an upside-down diagonal on the mattress.  Cue the countdown to things getting cold and sticky.  But then Trowa pulled away and I cracked open an eye to watch him collect the hand wipes that had been beyond my reach.  I grinned like a moron as he cleaned me up.  I summoned up enough oomph to return the favor.  We wiggled beneath the blankets.

“What’s the date tomorrow?” I asked him.

“The fifth,” he replied.

I sighed out a breath instead of cursing.

His hand found mine.  “We’ll be ready for the online meeting.”

 _We._  Fuck yeah.  “You’re right babe.  We will.”

I kissed him.

He reached out to turn off the light.

I burrowed closer to him in the darkness.  He curled his body around mine.  In the morning, we would talk with Noin; we would check for Winner’s offer; we would start sorting all that out.  The day after, we would open up a dialog between humans and fey; we’d kick off a new council and we’d see where that goes.

There was so damn much to do.  So many plans yet to be made.

One thing was certain: the Maxwells were gonna see it through, come what may.

Trowa nuzzled my neck and breathed out one word, “Sleep.”

Maybe I was grinning as I did.  Hell, maybe Trowa was, too.  In the darkness, anything is possible.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Silencer’s name: yes, I totally know what it is, and no, I haven’t decided when I’m going to tell you. I’d like for its revelation to be a key turning point for something. What that something is, I haven’t figured out yet.
> 
> The Sicarian failed: yes, Duo got injured badly enough to put him in mortal danger. There is a reason for why this happened. And, thanks to the ring-bond that connected Duo and Trowa, Trowa was able to take a bit of Duo’s pain and keep Duo’s injuries from worsening faster than they did.
> 
> Quatre Winner: you have no idea how badly I wanted to make him grovel to a human companion — I was hoping Relena would take one for the team, there — but it just didn’t work out. Besides, the chipper little shit (Quatre, not Relena) may come in handy. (That’s not to say that Relena’s not gonna start taking names and laying down shit that’s real, because if she doesn’t, I will be most displeased.)
> 
> Solo is gay, too? WTF!: well, maybe he is, and maybe he isn’t. We’ll just have to see if he actually does ask Wufei out on a date.
> 
> So, Meiran: she (and similarly-inclined clan members) are not going away. But Sally Po is on the case and this lady is boss.
> 
> What’s next? Hm. Sorry, but if I told you, I’d have to kill you.


End file.
